Brothers in War
by chainsaw0714
Summary: A family; fighting a war they fear they cannot win. Their enemies have them locked in a bloody stalemate. They're torn and tired, but still together, hanging on to the only hope they have: each other. But when the enemy takes one of their own, will they fight to band together and save him? Or will the team be split apart?
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Whew! Okay, I teased this story a little last month and got a great response (even though this is actually nothing like my teaser), so I'm buckling down and committing to writing it. Hope you guys enjoy chapter one!**

* * *

No.

No. This couldn't be happening. They had _won._ This couldn't be how the story ended. Why was nothing ever simple? Rorke was supposed to be _dead._

Logan twisted in the dirt and reached for Hesh with his good arm. He was only a few feet away, but it felt like miles separated them. The elder watched in horror as his little brother slipped through his fingers. Hesh stretched, willing his arm to grow longer, but there was no use.

"Logan." His voice came out as a hoarse croak, owing to the water that was probably still lodged in his lungs. Overbalancing, he fell forward on his bullet wounds. Inhaling sharply, he looked up desperately, only to see Logan being dragged further and further away.

"Logan!" He dragged himself forward and tried to ignore the pain, only to collapse after a couple feet. _Where does the man get his strength?_ Every inch Hesh gained, Rorke was another yard away. Logan, battered and only semiconscious, did the only thing he knew to do when he was helpless. He looked to his brother, with a silent plea. He didn't have to talk, it was written in the lines of his face, even in the way he breathed. Panic. Dread. Terror. He was trying his best to control it, to stay strong, but Hesh saw right through the act.

"LOGAN!" Hesh screamed, as if the force of the shout alone could stop Rorke. Logan didn't call to him, but his eyes communicated more than his voice ever could. Hesh panicked. He was powerless to stop this. He couldn't save him.

_ Not yet. _The small voice came from the back of his mind. He wouldn't give up so easily. Though the panic gnawed at his senses and threatened to overwhelm him, he yelled to the receding pair of figures.

"I'll come for you, Logan! I'll find you, I promise!" His voice cracked and Hesh hung his head into the sand. "I'll save you." He whispered to the seashells. He couldn't face Logan, not when so much pain and fear were in his eyes. He had failed him. Shame and guilt crashed on his shoulders. Lying on his front, Hesh listened to Logan's screams of desperation and agony - heard him call his name - as Rorke struggled to drag him away.

Captor and captive faded from sight and hearing. Hesh's senses were shutting down, his head left reeling from confusion and blood loss. What had Rorke meant?

_"You woulda' been a helluva Ghost." _Over the past couple of months, Hesh had learned to the southern drawl and the man who owned it with every ounce of his being._ "But that's not gonna happen. There ain't gonna _be_ any Ghosts. We're gonna destroy 'em together." _He had been speaking to Logan, just after he had broken his arm and punched him in the jaw. Hesh and Logan both knew the story of how Gabriel Rorke, former captain of the Ghosts, had been captured and tortured to insanity by the Federation. They brainwashed him, and now used him as a tool for their own purposes.

That was why the last word out of Rorke's mouth scared Hesh the most: _"together."_ Their dad, Elias, had once said that if the Feds could turn Rorke against his comrades, then they could turn anyone. He fiercely prayed it wasn't true. He closed his eyes, trying to shut out the pain and misery that sent his head spinning, but when he did, he saw Logan, forlorn and petrified, looking back at him as he was pulled away.

_I'm sorry Logan._ Hesh looked at the sky instead of the image seared into his mind's eye, but it followed his gaze like the afterimage left from staring at the sun.

Farther away, where American forces were pushing the Feds back into the desert, kinetic missiles were still raining down from the sky, devastating the enemy, even as they retreated. In a way, it was a beautiful view. Destruction fell from the heavens, adding insult to injury by not only slaughtering the Federation forces, but completely annihilating them. There was no one left to resist. Somehow, the day was won, but still _so_ lost. A military victory, but a personal defeat. The paradox chased itself through Hesh's mind as he slipped from consciousness.

* * *

Logan fought and kicked for all he was worth. Adrenaline had washed away most of the pain in his shoulder and arm, but he knew it wouldn't last for long. Even though he couldn't break free from the iron grip on his ankle, he made Rorke pay dearly for every inch of ground he gained, every inch that carried him farther from Hesh and rescue. He twisted himself around to kick at Rorke's arms and chest; anything he could reach, he struck.

He looked up again towards the beach and noticed in alarm that they were almost to the tree line He could barely see Hesh's still form near the surf, his head hung in the dirt. He wasn't looking at him. Logan tried to tell himself that he couldn't, he was too weak. He _had_ been shot. Twice. Instead, a very different thought ran through his head.

_You selfish jerk! _Logan surprised even himself with the thought. As soon as the outburst occurred in his mind, he felt bad for it. But Hesh knew how much comfort Logan could draw from just simple eye contact with his brother. _Why won't he look up? Is he too weak? _He stared at where Hesh lay, wanting, willing him to move.

Logan clawed at the dirt with his good arm, desperately trying to stop Rorke's retreat. Panic rose. Not for the pain that was sure to come, but for the unmoving figure lying alone in the sand. With one great effort he managed to yell, one word, to call out to the still form of his brother.

"Hesh!" The cry came out garbled and smothered by his rusty and tired vocal cords. Hesh didn't move.

"DAVID!" Desperate now, for any reaction, Logan screamed for all he was worth. He _had_ to know. Hesh couldn't be dead. Not now, after all that they'd done. His brother's head remained still as death, but Logan drew a small glimmer of hope when he saw the miniscule rise and fall of his back. He was breathing. He would make it. Recon was on the way.

_Can they get here fast enough?_ No. Fast enough to save Hesh, yes.

But not Logan.

He then began to worry for his own life. He had heard the Hesh's promise, shouted across the beach, _"I'll come for you! …I'll find you, I promise!"_ He wanted to believe the words. As much as he squirmed in Rorke's grip and fought against it, he knew it was a battle he could not win. He tried to convince himself that Hesh _would_ come. He'd promised, right? Hesh _never_ broke his promises. He was _always_ there. Logan just had to remember that and he thought he could get through this.

He found himself wishing he had gone for the headshot. Twisting, Logan looked up at the man in whose grip he writhed. The man who he hated so much. It should have been simple. Kill Rorke. That was the only objective. Hesh had agreed, side effects and repercussions didn't matter so long as the man - more like demon - _died._ But, in the train car, under the ocean, he'd been given a choice, and Logan couldn't do it. The memory replayed itself in his head, accompanied by the thought,

_ Why couldn't I have just hit him where it counted? _

He had snapped the chamber of the revolver shut as Hesh grappled with Rorke, seizing him in a headlock from behind. He wrestled the stronger man to stillness for Logan to take the shot. One bullet. One kill. One shot to end it all. Logan had taken aim at his enemy's head, but stopped as he came to a realization. The gun in his hand was a .44 Magnum. It packed enough punch to stop a charging bull; it would tear right through Rorke no matter where Logan hit him. He hesitated.

_One second._ Rorke's head was pinned against Hesh's chest. The bullet would go straight through his cranium and tear into Hesh's chest cavity. Logan would be signing his own brother's death certificate.

_Two seconds._ Hesh was yelling, panicked,

"Logan! Do it! Now!"He couldn't hold Rorke much longer. The stronger enemy groped with his free hand along the floor for his fallen blade. Even Hesh, Logan's invincible brother appeared slight and frail next to their enemy. The Fed was a literal juggernaut. Nothing seemed to slow him down. Under different circumstances, Logan would have respected him. But he was their enemy, and a formidable one.

In hindsight, he shouldn't have made the choice he had. Rorke couldn't be killed so easily; he wouldn't stoop so low.

_Three seconds._ Logan had adjusted his aim and pulled the trigger.

Immediately the struggling of both men stopped. The bullet flew true, right where Logan had sent it. It ripped open Rorke's center of mass, and tore through Hesh's abdomen before flying farther, cracking the window. Hesh and Rorke fell backwards, dead or unconscious. The glass behind them spider-webbed under the water pressure, each audible snap sending a twinge of dread through Logan's gut. He didn't know if he could get both himself and Hesh out of there. He barely had time to gulp one deep breath before the window caved inwards, its shards slicing at his arms and face. He tumbled in the sudden torrent of water, grabbing for Hesh as the pressure equalized.

After he found both his brother and gravity, he swam for all he was worth towards the surface. His lungs screamed at him. His legs cramped and shut down in protest. Logan was consumed by one thought,

_The surface. Get Hesh to the surface._ Whipping his exhausted limbs into submission, he broke into the air an eternity later, coughing and sputtering. Dropping Hesh into the sand next to him, he fell hard onto his elbows and knees, gasping the precious oxygen into his lungs. Ridding himself of the briny taste of seawater, he looked to Hesh. Thankfully, he was coughing up water and breathing on his own.

He felt giddy, which was rather hard for a grown man to do. He couldn't help but smile as he crawled up the beach, towing Hesh along behind him. He was liberated, like a great weight was lifted from his shoulders. Rorke was dead. All the signs pointed to it. He took a forty-four to the chest and then was locked in a steel cage at the bottom of the ocean. Shock and blood loss alone would have finished him off, minus the seawater. They couldn't call it a 'confirmed' kill, but it was the next best thing.

Propping Hesh up against the rocks, Logan had slumped down next to him, relaxing for what seemed like the first time in ages. He remembered a strange, untangling, untwisting feeling in his heart. He felt like whooping for joy, but settled on peeling his wet mask off his face and pushing it up on his head. Hesh slapped him weakly on the leg, a congratulation.

_Good job._ Of course, the words were said aloud. They bantered back and forth, almost like old times, though, Logan had never been much for talking anyway. He spoke now, mostly to keep Hesh awake, and worried over him like a mother hen. The pair of them had left a red trail through the sand from the edge of the water, but it was mostly Hesh's, and he was still losing blood. Logan checked him over completely, applying what limited combat aid he could. He had told Hesh to call in their success to help keep him awake. Even if his radio _had_ survived the scuffle with Rorke, Merrick may not have even recognized Logan's voice over the radio, he used the thing that infrequently. Hesh reached up and toggled on his microphone.

"Merrick, come in." His voice was weak and breathy. "Merrick, do you copy?"It didn't take long to get a reply.

"Hesh? Hesh, is that you?" His relief was plainly evident over the soft crackle of the radio. It was a strange tone for him. Merrick seldom broke his cold, calculating mask of calm. Logan chuckled inwardly. It was a nice change from the aloof, imposing stoic he'd been when they first met him.

"Yeah. I'm with Logan. We're okay." Hesh's voice was still tinted by the pain, but the words came out stronger than when he first spoke. Logan watched him. What few movements he made still seemed strong and normal, so he didn't look like he was going into shock. That was a relief

"… and Rorke?" Despite his obvious relief, Merrick's hesitancy in this question was plain. It was like he was afraid to even ask, the man had slipped through their fingers so many times.

"Dead. He's dead." Hesh's voice had leveled out with these words, imbuing them with a decisive, hard edge. As if expressing the force of his emotion had exhausted him, he rested his head on the damp rock at his back. Merrick's voice sounded over the radio for a third time.

"Copy that. The Federation's in full retreat. The rest of the payload's inbound to finish the job. Sit tight. Recon's coming for you." Logan sighed contentedly and at last fully relaxed. He clapped Hesh on the shoulder, squeezing tightly to keep him awake. Hesh spoke.

"I'm proud of you… good job, bro." Logan smiled sadly. Hesh probably didn't realize how much he sounded like Dad. Logan had smacked him lightly on the leg and was about to speak when a noise to their right distracted him, like shoes scraping through the dirt. He wrenched his head to the right and it was met solidly with the sole of a combat boot. Recoiling, Logan grabbed his combat knife from its sheath on his thigh. He briefly wondered how he'd managed to hang on to it through all the fighting of earlier. Swinging the blade in an arc intended to connect with his opponent's knee cap, he found his arm caught, the blow countered. Rorke squeezed his wrist hard, pinching the nerves together and making him drop the blade. Then his arm was wrenched backwards as a simultaneous blow smashed his elbow forward, breaking all three bones in his arm and dislocating his shoulder. Logan howled as Rorke let go of his hand; he had never known such agony existed.

Rorke then had monologued for a good minute, deeming the two of them not enough of a threat to worry about, before dragging him away.

Logan was snapped back to the present when Rorke kicked his right arm, sending signals of pain that overrode his brain's command to keep his grip on the young tree he'd managed to get a hold of. He ground his teeth to contain the scream. Hesh had once commented that he had an insanely high pain threshold.

_Well, maybe that will come in handy._ Rorke had only dragged him a short distance beyond the tree line when Logan heard it, a gorgeous noise. Rotor wash, slicing through the air in the most beautiful cacophony he'd ever heard. Rorke swore under his breath and picked up his pace as much as he could while pulling his struggling prisoner. The rotors grew steadily louder and Logan knew from the frequency of the engine that the bird was circling over the beach, searching for an LZ. Slowly, the rotors wound down, and the engine roar faded to a dull whine.

Logan took a deep breath, intending to shout as loud as he could. Before he could loose the yell, though, he was on his back, Rorke on top of him, forcing away his breath. One hand was over his mouth, the other poised above his arm, ready to turn it into a compound fracture instead of the less painful break it was now. The menacing look in the former Ghost's eyes conveyed only one message,

_"Don't even think about it."_ Then he hauled Logan to his feet, drew the knife that he'd taken from the younger man, and made him walk in front of him. In spite of the obvious threat, Logan emptied his lungs into the air, not even trying to form an intelligible cry. He only hoped that the sound would carry to the beach were his comrades were. It was his last hope.

Almost immediately Rorke seized him from behind and rammed his face into a tree, knocking him out.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: And here is chapter two! Hm, I feel so accomplished. I wasn't going to publish this yet, but you have PhantomxWolf to thank for the encouragement. Enjoy!**

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As the recon chopper landed, the chalk - an Air Force Pararescue crew, and Ghosts Kick and Neptune - hopped out and scanned the area. Merrick, knowing how deadly Rorke could be, had sent the combat medics with his recon team to retrieve the Walker boys.

The Black Hawk settled on a level strip of beach and kept the rotors at a low RPM as the others filed out, cleared the beach, then made their way over to a lone figure slumped amongst the rocks. The Ghosts paused, confused. There were _two _Walker boys. Where was the other? The two medics moved to secure the man lying in the sand, and Neptune signaled to Kick to sweep the area and search for their other brother.

_No one gets left behind._

Hesh groaned when the medics rolled him over, in an effort to get a good look at his injuries. His uniform was rent and bloodied. The medics quickly unstrapped his combat vest, cut away his shirt, and began examining the two gunshot wounds. They were fairly close together, both on the lower left side of his abdomen, and had blown clear through his body.

"Two bullet wounds, large caliber. Probably a forty-five." The first medic began triaging his patient. He checked his pulse, which was weak, but still there. The second medic started an IV drip.

"Nah, look at the exit wounds. I'd say a magnum." Picking up the injured soldier, they moved him back to the Black Hawk. He wasn't conscious and unknowingly groaned when he was moved. "We've got to get him out of here. He's lost too much blood." The medic looked down the beach to where the two Ghosts were still scanning the area for their second teammate. They seemed to be interested in something on the ground because they kept pointing at it and walked up to the tree line. He keyed his mike and gave them an update,

"Your boy's in real bad shape. We need to hurry it up here." Neptune gave them a quick acknowledgement before turning his attention back to the dilemma at hand.

"What are we going to do?" Kick asked Neptune. "We can't just leave him." His voice came out strained with emotion. He hadn't known the Walker boy for very long, but they had become fast friends in the wake of Las Vegas. Common experience, he guessed. Kick stared, fixated on the drag marks that continued into the jungle. Crimson dye interspersed the tiny hills and valleys that spoke of a struggle.

"Yeah, but if we follow the tracks it could be suicide. It's obvious that the Feds did this. We don't know what they might have up their sleeves. I'm going to call it in." Neptune reached up and tuned his radio to Merrick's frequency. "Merrick, you copy?"

"Go, Neptune." Merrick's voice crackled over the radio.

"We're at the coordinates you gave us and we've recovered Hesh, but Logan isn't here." Neptune took a breath to let the older Ghost absorb that information before continuing. Despite his calculating, cynical personality, Merrick cared deeply for every member of his team. Unfortunately, it had taken years of calling him a 'selfish dick' before Neptune had finally figured that out. The news would be rough on him. "Tracks on the beach suggest that Feds came and dragged him into the jungle. The trail is pretty clear, we could follow them..." He trailed off and a long, weighted silence followed, the unspoken request hanging in the radio waves. Neptune didn't blame his CO. The decision to leave a man behind couldn't be taken lightly, but neither could the decision to send in two men alone against a force of unknown size. It was too risky; they didn't even know if Logan was still alive. The Ghosts hadn't become the world's most elite fighting force by being stupid. Merrick would never allow it.

Yet, Neptune couldn't bring himself to reconcile those facts in his brain. It all added up, but it was so against his nature and training to leave a man behind. People at home, the civilians, think that soldiers fight for pride and country and all that crap. For some, maybe it's true, but Neptune knew better. In the field only three things exist: you, your enemy, and your brother beside you. Your brother has your six and you cover his back. All that matters is getting out alive. Failing in that objective is the worst act a soldier can commit.

Nevertheless, Kick and Neptune knew what Merrick would say, and were already bracing themselves for it. When the order came, his voice was strangely cold and emotionless. Sometimes it was easier to pretend you just didn't care.

"Negative, Neptune. You'd be going in blind. We have no intel on that AO. It's too dangerous. Pull back and evac Hesh. He can tell us more about what happened. Fall back to the Adamant."

Simply out of spite, Neptune let the silence draw out to an accusatory length before giving his acknowledgement.

"Copy that, sir. Recon team is moving to evac." He clicked off the radio and gestured to Kick, who just stared at him blankly before moving, gobsmacked that they were even following the order. Like it or not, they were retreating. Even still, it took every bit of his willpower not to send the chopper back without them and search the jungle for his fallen friend. Logan would be reported 'MIA' or 'POW' when the team got back to base. Neptune couldn't shake the feeling that by turning around, they were sealing his death. He tried to shake off the shivers that ran down his spine and boarded the chopper, followed closely by Kick. The medics looked up expectantly. Having patched up Hesh as best they could, they were waiting for the other Ghost to be brought in. Neptune just shook his head, then commanded the pilots to RTB.

"How is he?" Kick asked the medics. Hesh looked pale and drained. From what little medical knowledge he had, he gathered that there was very little the medics could do right now. Blood loss and a concussion weren't things you could easily treat in a speeding Black Hawk.

"He's far from stable. He has two gunshot wounds that we can see, a probable concussion and cracked ribs, and we think he's becoming hypothermic. The most we can do right now is try to stop the bleeding and keep him comfortable. He might make it." The PJ's reply was brutally honest, but Kick appreciated the lack of sugar-coating. Hesh was tough; the kid would pull through, but he would be a hell of a headache whenever he came around.

As the rotors spun up, kicking up more dust and noise, Kick tilted his head; he thought he heard something feral carried on the jungle breeze. It could've been a yell, inhuman and twisted; a cry fueled by pain and terror, or it could have been nothing. He couldn't be sure, but the sound twisted his stomach, and as the chopper lifted off, Kick shook his head to clear it.

They were soon airborne, turning slightly into the wind and heading west towards the command carrier. Kick and Neptune manned the gunner positions on either side of the aircraft, but were relaxed. The Feds couldn't give them any trouble now, even if they wanted to. Every part of Neptune's psyche screamed at him to stay and search until he found Logan. A sinking feeling grew in his gut and his instincts told him that he wouldn't be seeing the younger man again, at least not while whole and sane.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Okay, here's a nice long chapter for you guys before I turn in. Again, please enjoy, and to anyone wanting to review, know that criticism is just as welcome as praise here, so please drop a note on anything I can improve. Thanks!**

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"Three, two, one!"

_CRASH!_  
Hesh breached the door.

Logan rushed in quickly to catch the Feds while they were off guard. Hesh heard gunfire, men shouting in Spanish. Logan downed the two Feds closest to the door – one thought he would try for a lunging sweep with his knife. He got two bullets in the head for his trouble.

_Oh, shit._ Hesh saw a man with an RPG pop out of cover on the far end of the engine car, aiming straight at the two Ghosts. He thought they were dead then and there, but Hesh thanked his stars for Logan's phenomenal reflexes – not for the first time. Three cracks sounded from his weapon and red stained the front of the Fed's uniform. The whoosh of the RPG was followed closely by a BOOM and CLANG as the engine exploded, and Hesh realized that the man had already pulled the trigger.

_Well, fuck!_

"The engine's hit! Hold on!" Hesh shouted out to Logan. The train car slowed forcefully and suddenly, the failsafe for the engine triggering the emergency brake. The two soldiers' inertia sent them careening forward in an uncontrolled skid across the floor, and straight into the foremost car.

They burst through the door, still sliding. Hesh spotted Rorke on the right side, but his momentum carried him forward into a group of three Feds in the front of the car. He adjusted his position and braced his feet against the console as he hit it, levering himself upwards and delivering a punch to a man's face before reaching for his knife and finishing him. To his right and rear, Logan had done the same thing and pinned Rorke, using the enemy's own revolver to dispatch the other two lackeys in the car. Having lost his primary, Hesh drew out his sidearm, moving to cover Rorke while Logan fought with him.

Next thing he knew, Rorke lurched up and head-butted Logan, using the sudden halting of the train to turn the tables. In the half-second Logan was dazed Rorke placed him firmly in a choking headlock, and, seizing his gun back, spun around, pressing the Magnum to the younger man's forehead.

"Drop it! Now!" Rorke yelled, digging the barrel into Logan's temple, showing that he wasn't afraid to shoot. Hesh wavered, fighting with his faltering determination.

_No, you know what you have to do._

Kill Rorke. End it. End it for everyone. His resolve wavered. Even in light of the pact he and Logan made before this mission, Hesh paused. Rorke wasn't stupid; and he was an experienced gunman. He would be able to tell, just by watching Hesh's hands; if he so much as twitched his trigger finger, Logan was as good as dead.

But he had made a promise. Before the mission even began. In the chopper before they infiltrated the Fed control station, he and Logan had agreed that nothing could come between them and Rorke; that if he was there, they wouldn't let the sun set until he was dead. No matter what happened, he could not get away this time. But Hesh glanced at Logan, who was twisting and struggling in a vain effort to free himself from the death grip and get some air. He was looking back up at him. All attempts at speech cut off, his eyes screamed _"Do it!"_

He couldn't. Defeated, Hesh threw his weapon aside.

"You can't win, Rorke! It's over!" He tried reasoning.

Hesh gasped as his attempt was rewarded with a bullet. It ripped through his stomach, and he grunted when Rorke kicked him backwards onto the control panel, putting the gun to his head. He focused all his energies on saying one final word; the trigger word for if every other plan backfired.

"Checkmate." He graveled out through the pain.

"Checkmate confirmed." Merrick's voice sounded quietly in his ear, and he allowed a small smile to creep onto his face. Let Rorke wonder what it meant.

"What was that? What did you do?!" Rorke backed away, still trapping Logan in the choking headlock. The younger brother's eyes rolled; he was starting to slip. He needed oxygen.

Rorke didn't have to wonder for long. He could clearly see the kinetic missiles streaking to earth, right in front of them.

"You lost, Rorke. It's over." Hesh's voice was breathy and weak, but his statement was confirmed when the impact of the missiles reverberated along the tracks, shredding the tracks in front of them. A gaping hole stared out of the cliffside ahead. They could all see the additional missiles, coming in closer and closer as the angel of death who was pulling the trigger dialed in his aim.

For once, Rorke was utterly astonished. It could be seen in his face, along with something else. Perhaps it was respect for the tenacity with which the two young men had committed themselves to their mission. He lowered the forty-four, and took a small step backwards, watching their doom approach.

"Aw, shit, son…" Rorke shook his head almost imperceptibly, stunned. Hesh looked at Logan, who was wriggling out of Rorke's now loosened grip, gasping in precious air. He tried to convey all his emotions through his eyes, but mostly he gave his brother a silent apology. He knew they had both agreed to it, but he was still shocked that their task of killing Rorke had led them to such desperate measures.

Then the cabin was rocked, and flew off the tracks. The train cars twisted and gyrated so much during their fall that gravity became meaningless. The three were suspended in the air, the ocean rapidly approaching. Hesh reached for Logan. If they were about to die, they would go down together. Just before their hands connected, the car hit the water and they were thrown apart. Hesh blacked out. He briefly felt like he was falling through emptiness where space-time didn't matter. The world spun.

He was next aware of light piercing through his eyelids, spots like starlight negatives danced on his vision; his head felt like a brain-freeze had taken up residence, pounding with every heartbeat. Lying on his back, he looked up at shades of blue; he was drowning in it. Everything was distorted around him, the sky blending in a muddled mass with the clouds and wreckage. He didn't know where he was, but his lungs were screaming for air, filled with some pervasive substance. Chest heaving, he spewed out the thick brine, salt and mucus feeling like Jell-O as it surged out of his throat and ran down his face. He lay there, gasping, for he knew not how long.

After a time, Hesh felt a weight on his chest and movement beneath him. Still coughing up water, he clasped the hand hooked through his combat vest, making it his lifeline to reality. He squinted and saw Logan - thank God - pulling him up the beach. He dragged him a good distance from the waterline, and positioned him against the smooth, sand-blasted rocks. Hesh wasn't moving his head, but it tilted side to side. Logan's low, graveled voice wafted through the hazy mess that was Hesh's consciousness. At first unintelligible, the words slowly sharpened as Hesh focused and pulled himself back to awareness.

"Come on, wake up sleeping beauty. Nap's over." Logan was saying. Irritated, Hesh tried to move, but found at the moment his middle finger could only twitch. He heard the tone of voice, though; the accent of concern that was impossible to miss. His head was released and it lolled down onto his chest. He felt pressure in his stomach. Where had his strength gone?

"Hey! Come on, look at me." Hesh was trying, but his muscles had aged, his limbs turned to stone.

"David Joshua Walker, don't you dare go to sleep." A warning tone played around Logan's voice that made Hesh want to say, "Yes, mother!" It felt like it took all of his energy to lift his head, but when he did, a relieved, "There you go, man," came from somewhere above and next to him. His eyes opened and met Logan's, their chocolaty-brown warmth grounding him. He had rolled his balaclava back into a skullcap. It was nice to see his face. Ever since he had earned the mask, Logan was rarely seen without their dad's old garment. Hesh looked over his brother's battered features. He was obviously tired, and had a wicked black eye forming. Hesh wondered when he had gotten it. The familiar scar that started above his eye stretched up towards his hairline. Strands of blond not-quite-regulation-length hair peeked out and fell over his ears in a tousled wave. Hesh visually checked him for injuries, noting a small, red stain seeping out from under his combat vest.

"You…" Hesh coughed to clear his throat. "You're hurt." He tried to lift his arm and point, but the limb was leaden and refused to move.

"I'm fine, it's nothing." He pounded his opposite fist on the shoulder. "Doesn't even hurt. You, on the other hand, need help."

"Well, we always knew that." Hesh joked weakly. Logan huffed.

"Medical help, dumbass." He smiled, a big, stupid grin spreading across his face and even reaching his eyes. Hesh hadn't seen a genuine smile on his brother's face in ages. It was infectious, and Hesh found himself mirroring the expression, simply reveling in the fact that they were both alive. Then they started laughing, until they realized it hurt. Logan slumped against the rock, next to him, nearly passed out himself. It painted a strange picture: two battle-hardened soldiers sprawled in the sand and seashells, chuckling at nothing, simply savoring each new shaky breath they took.

"We got him." Once Logan said the simple statement out loud, it finally seemed real. Though Hesh corrected him,

"_You_ got him, Logan." He clapped his brother on the thigh. "You did it."

_You did what I couldn't._ Hesh looked out at the sea, again struggling to keep his eyes open. The world begged to slip away, to leave him bodyless in the void. He again slipped towards unconsciousness before he was slugged lightly in the shoulder, wringing a grunt of discomfort from the elder brother.

"Hey, don't you dare! Hesh?" Came the worried voice. Peeling his eyes back open, he heard a sigh. "I need you to call it in. My radio's dead."

He doubted it, but did as he'd been asked. Merrick sent a casevac chopper their way. Now they just had to wait. Hesh drifted, slowly, saying,

"I'm proud of you, bro… good job." He'd slumped back, finally ready to slip into darkness. Everything hurt.

When did pain become so… _painful?_ Black crept in his vision. His head spun. Then he heard strange noises. A scuffle, then a guttural cry that jerked his eyes open. He saw two silhouettes, one man standing over the other. One's voice wafted through his fogged consciousness.

"Look what you did." Hesh knew that Southern accent anywhere. Rorke. The bastard had survived. But how? He wrenched his head to the side and snapped his eyes open to look up at the hated enemy. He struggled to rise, to finish him. Rorke kicked him backwards before gesturing in Logan's direction. He was hunched over, grimacing and holding his arm close to his body.

"You're good." At least the bastard sounded as much like crap as he looked. "You woulda' made a helluva Ghost." He knelt next to Logan.

_Get the hell away from him!_ Hesh scrambled to gather his thoughts; to stop Rorke. Hell, he couldn't even move.

"But that's not going to happen. There ain't gonna be any Ghosts." He hissed, getting in the wounded man's face. Logan recoiled at his close proximity, attempting to inch away before he was halted by the rocks at his back. Rorke just smirked at his futile attempts to get away.

"We're gonna destroy 'em together." Hesh's stomach wrenched and dropped.

_What the hell are you talking about?_ Then Rorke grabbed Logan's ankle. He started to move, dragging the young man with him. Finally, Hesh realized what Rorke meant.

_No… no, _hell_ no._ Hesh scrambled, reaching for Logan, sensing what was to come. Their fingers nearly met… but he was too weak. He couldn't grab him. Hesh looked frantically between his brother's face and Rorke's. The latter held a contemptuous sneer as he dragged Logan away.

_You leave him alone you son of a bitch!_ Hesh screamed internally. He slammed his fist down, sending small bits of sand flying. He only had the strength to utter one word.

"Logan." The sound ground its way out of his throat, hoarse and irritated, panic creeping up on him.

_No, this can't be happening…_ Hesh looked up frantically and pitched himself forward, clawing at the dirt, trying to reach ever farther towards the receding figures.

"Logan!" He hyperventilated. Fear clawing its way into its brain was making him shut down, utterly and completely, rendering him helpless to save his brother. A word reached his ears,

"Hesh!" He tried so hard, desperate to do anything to stop Rorke, but there was nothing. Logan's voice rang out again. He sounded so afraid.

"David!?"

_Nothing I can do, I can't stop him, I can't help him. _He had never felt so powerless.

"NO, LOGAN!"

Hesh shot bolt upright. The name tore from his lips, shattering the still air. He tried to rise to shake off the most vivid nightmare he'd ever had, but was blind in the still darkness. The space felt small, close around him, making him panic. Breathing heavily, he tried to calm himself. His shirt was drenched, plastered to his chest with sweat. He looked around frantically, eyes settling on nothing in the inky blackness. He wasn't on the beach. There was no surf lapping at his feet. The only light in the room came from screens next to the bed where he lay. One of them beeped rapidly.

Before he could process all this, he heard the _click_ of a flipping switch and was blinded by white industrial lights. Strong hands grabbed his shoulders and pushed him back down onto the bed. He fought. Scared and blind, he had no idea where he was or who these people were. Fearing the worst, he thrashed in the tight grip that held him down. As his mind de-fogged from sleep, voices drifted through his ears.

"Hold him down, he'll tear his stitches!"

"Hesh calm down! You're alright!"

"It's okay, it's us! You're safe."

Hesh blinked rapidly, regaining his vision, and saw that he was in a med bay. Kick, Keegan, and another man were hovering above him. Gradually, he realized he was in the company of friends, and relaxed slightly. They pushed him down onto the sloped surface and then gave some space while the medic checked the sutures in his stomach. Pain and emotion catching up to him, Hesh slumped back and took deep breaths in an attempt to calm himself. Everything that had happened yesterday came back to him. Rorke, the beach… and Logan.

_Where is he? Where's my brother?_ The singular thought pounded through his head as Hesh tried to organize his thoughts. Then the nightmare floated back to him. He saw Logan's face in his mind's eye, heard his desperate cry, and crumpled in anguish.

Assured that his stitches were fine, the medic adjusted the IV, adding something new to the line, then turned to the others. He looked like he was about to say something, but he was grabbed roughly from behind. Keegan guided the young man away from the curtain-walled room, saying,

"Give us a minute, alright?" Though worded nicely, Keegan made it very clear that it wasn't a request. Turning around, he briefly locked eyes with Kick and nodded, some unspoken message passing between them. The shared look wasn't lost on Hesh. Something was amiss, otherwise they wouldn't be acting so cautiously. Kick walked slowly over to him; he'd closed his eyes, was breathing deeply, and shaking slightly. He placed a hand on the wounded man's shoulder, squeezing lightly. His eyes snapped open. They flitted around, nervous and electric.

"Hey kid. You alright?" Kick probed gently. Hesh opened his mouth to speak, but nothing but a hoarse croak came out.

"Here." Keegan took a cup of water from the nearby table and gave it to him. He drank deeply, sighing when he finally put the cup down, then looked up at the other two men. His voice still sounded torn and ragged when it came out.

"Where is he?"

_I need to see him. I need to know that he's fine. _There was that look again, passed between the older Ghosts. It held sorrow, remorse, and… distress? Kick opened his mouth and let it hang open for a moment before looking to Keegan. Something was wrong. Frantic thoughts ran through Hesh's mind,

_Why are they acting like this? What happened?_ Their continued silence was adding to his agitation. He just wanted to see his brother. Finally, Keegan spoke.

"Hesh—"

"Where's Logan?" Hesh grew more insistent. A gnawing fear grew out of nowhere. He glanced between Kick and Keegan, noting their troubled faces and uneasy stances. Kick shifted his weight from foot to foot, unable to settle on one or the other, and Keegan's shoulders were uncharacteristically slouched.

_No. _He was growing panicked, desperate._ No. Don't tell me that._ Neither of the two men standing next to him said anything, but he picked up on their unspoken signals.

"Where _is_ he?!" Hesh half rose from the bed before wincing and slumping back from the pain of the effort. Keegan finally spoke, if only to keep him still.

"We don't know." The phrase fell bluntly onto Hesh's ears. He shook his head, disbelieving.

"What do you mean, _'you don't know'_? You didn't see the trail? You didn't go after him?!" Outrage crept into Hesh's voice. They hadn't brought him back? They left their teammate out there, alone? The bastard that killed his father now had his little brother too? Hesh looked into Keegan's eyes, searching them for any hint of doubt; wishing for a sign that this was just another nightmare.

"Hesh, he was long gone when we reached your position." Kick spoke up cautiously, then plunged on before Hesh could retort. "You had lost too much blood; we didn't have much time to search because the medics were worried you might not make it. Even still, you flat-lined _twice_ before they stabilized you."

"You gave us a hell of a scare." Keegan chimed in.

"You think I care?" Desperation crept into his brain. "Why didn't you follow them?" These words were a whisper. Hesh's voice fell low as his ire rose. Despite the fact that these men were his team, his friends, he felt betrayed by them. He balled his fists into the sheets, clinging to the semblance of reality. The two seemed shocked by Hesh's blatant disregard for his own life. All he wanted was his brother, here, safe. Could they not understand that?

_I failed him, and you failed him too._

Kick tried arguing again.

"We had no intel on the area! The only combat ops there were me and Neptune, for all we knew the Feds that took him—"

"There were no Feds." Hesh interrupted, spitting out the interjection. His voice had graveled out and he held his eyes closed. He refused to look at them. Both Kick and Keegan shut up, confused.

"What do you mean?" Keegan questioned. "The Feds didn't take him?"

"There were no Fed_s_." Hesh repeated, accentuating his use of the plural. "There was _one_… _Rorke._" Hesh's voice filled with such loathing when he named the former Ghost that the other two men took a step back. Once they got over their initial shock, confusion set in.

"Rorke? But how? Merrick said –"

"We killed him. I swear to God, we killed him!" Hesh's voice was barely more than a whisper; he opened his eyes suddenly, trying to escape the images and emotions pounding in his head. The pure agony on Logan's face after Rorke crushed his arm. The raw, primal fear in his eyes as he was dragged farther and farther from home. The despair Hesh felt when he couldn't save him.

He was shaking again, and gripped the sides of the bed in an effort to calm himself. His breathing again turned rapid and irregular. Keegan placed a gentle hand on his shoulder to calm him. Softening his tone, he spoke,

"Tell us what happened." Hesh took a deep, shuddering breath before squeezing his eyes shut and plunging back into the harrowing memories.

"We were assaulting the train, that much you know." Kick and Keegan nodded in agreement. They had been tapped into the comms for the entirety of Stalker team and got status updates whenever Merrick had.

"We made our way up to the forward car. Rorke was there, with three others. It was a sloppy breach. We killed the three, but Rorke got close before we could shoot. I don't know _how_, but he got to Logan." The memory was so painful.

_His brother's eyes told him it didn't matter, told him to remember their pact._ Hesh tried to focus on the present, but it didn't help stop the memories. After a moment, he realized that Keegan and Kick were looking at him expectantly, waiting for him to go on.

"I couldn't _shoot_ him. He had him at gunpoint. If I had so much as twitched…" Hesh bit his lip to stop himself. He felt like if he said the words out loud, then they would become real, and he wouldn't be able to stop them.

"Bye bye brother." Keegan finished for him. The blunt phrase felt almost like a physical blow; it hung in the air while Hesh choked back a sob, still trying to appear strong by holding it all in.

"Yeah." Hesh sighed and paused to swallow the growing lump in his throat. "He shot me, and would have killed me, but that's when I told Merrick to fire on us." It was probably the ballsiest thing he'd ever done. Reflecting on it, he found it strange. Hesh had willingly called down the hellfire when he'd believed that none of them would survive. But when faced with the choice between dying or living on without Logan… he chose death. He took a shuddering breath and bit his lip, closing his eyes. Silent tears slipped down his face.

_I'm such a coward… and now Logan has to pay the price._

He felt the curiosity radiating off of the other Ghosts in the room, but they didn't press him. Hesh started gently shaking his head, warding off their unspoken questions.

"Hesh…" Kick probed gently, trying to bring him back to the present.

"No, I can't…" He stopped when his voice threatened to crack and closed his eyes again, silently reprimanding himself. He felt so tired.

_Come on. You're stronger than this. Stay strong for Logan. You can't let this break you._ He heard Keegan speak off to his right,

"It's okay kid. We'll wait until Merrick's here so you can just go through it once. Sound good?"

Hesh just nodded, not trusting his voice to speak. Before drifting off, he focused on one thought:

_You're his only hope now._


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Well, this took longer than I expected to write (my apologies), but here it is, chapter four!**

* * *

_The rail car. He was still down here. They were sinking. Off to his right, Rorke stirred, crawling towards Logan and the fallen pistol. Hesh fought to peel himself off the ceiling, now the floor of the car, but some unknown force held him pinned. Terror gripped him as he realized he couldn't move._

I must be dreaming.

_ Rorke was reaching… stretching… he had grasped the pistol and aimed it at Logan, who was still clearing his muddled thoughts. As the pressure increased on the trigger of the revolver, frantic thoughts ran through Hesh's head,_

Stop it! This isn't how it's supposed to happen! _He watched in horror as the hammer slowly ticked back and the cylinder rotated. The world went in slow motion for an hour-long second as the hammer fell. He saw the start of the recoil, the bits of unspent powder that flew out of the barrel, he could even see the spin of the bullet as it left the rifling. _

I can't watch this! _But Hesh's eyes were kept open by some invisible force. The piece of lead soared through the compressed air of the cabin, straight towards Logan. It traveled the six feet of space lazily, with no real purpose, and Hesh tracked its slow hurtle with plenty of time to take in his brother's expression. His eyes were widened only slightly. In real-time, you can't react to a bullet. The scrunching at the corners of his eyes, and frown between his eyebrows denoted it, though. He was already scared._

_ Hesh was forced to watch it all, despite his frantic attempts to wake himself. The bullet completed its course, at a snail's tormenting pace. _

Hesh woke with a gasp and stifled scream._ After_ he saw it tear through Logan's eye. _After _he was bound in watching the life leave his eye, that spark that had meant _home_ and _family_, extinguished. _After_ the red mist filtered idly through the air and Rorke turned back towards him, that vile smirk plastered across his face. He had said something, but the words were drowned out by the pounding of the ocean and Hesh's own yells, trying to wake himself.

The room around him was silent. No teammates this time. No medics. Just him alone in the room. He felt heavy, settled. When he wrenched himself out of the bed, all his muscles moaned in protest. He stood sluggishly, and teetered on the edge of his balance before running heavily into the door frame. He was thankful to find that he was in sweatpants and a button-up, not one of those horrid hospital gowns. He poked his head out of the medbay door, and spotted decals and markings on the walls and pipes that told him he was still on the Adamant.

He stalked down the corridors, dragging himself along on stiff legs. He knew he'd make the medics mad by wandering the ship, and maybe it was the morphine thinking, but he couldn't just _sit there_ while his team was working and his brother was out there with God-knows-what being done to him. Thoughts attacked him, with Logan, but more importantly, Rorke, at their epicenter. He tried to just breathe: inhale, exhale, and bury the rising tide down where it couldn't be touched. The heavy breaths tugged at the stitches below his ribs, but the small sting was nothing compared to the burning white rage in his chest. Rorke took his brother, but it felt like he had carved his heart out. Logan was all he had left, and now he was gone. Abducted.

Hesh kept unconsciously glancing over his shoulder, expecting his brother to be there, silently following him as he always had, but the only thing that stared back at him was the cold steel of the carrier, completely empty. The hollowness of the hallways attested to the losses suffered in the last battle, and no one felt the emptiness more sharply than Hesh.

He followed his feet where they went, and eventually found himself at the Ghosts' temporary command post. The door was ajar, so seeing nothing better to do, Hesh entered. Two people were in the room. He recognized them as Neptune and Keegan. They had their backs to him, oblivious to his presence. Keegan leaned on the back of the chair Neptune occupied, and they both watched the screen in front of them intently. What looked like a status bar crawled slowly across one window, and the other held a video feed that moved similarly to a helmet cam. Hesh stood quietly behind the two and watched the status bar complete. Neptune spoke into a headset a moment later,

"Check. We got the intel. You're clear to move out, over." The video feed jerked sideways for a moment before settling and focusing on Merrick, who nodded at the camera's owner. Hesh didn't hear the reply from the team on the ground, hearing only the one-sided, "Roger that. See you back at base," after he assumed Merrick copied. He figured it was as good a time as any to announce his presence, and cleared his throat loudly. Keegan spun around quickly.

"Hesh! You're awake." The statement came out surprised, as if he had expected Hesh to be doing something else. "You shouldn't be here, kid." If that wasn't suspicious, then the way he stepped out in front of the monitors behind him was: like he was trying to hide something. Hesh cocked his head and raised an eyebrow.

"Why?" His own voice irritated his throat, but the question still stood. Keegan turned his eyes to the ceiling, searching it, as if thinking, _Why me?_

"Hesh—" he began.

"Keegan stop." Neptune interjected with the same tone of warning Keegan had been about to use. "Wait." He had shut down the computer bank behind him, but still wore a comm in his ear. He stood and faced Hesh.

"Wait for what?" Hesh went on the defensive, and fought to keep his voice level. He felt strangely like these two were hiding something, and worse, they were teaming up on him to keep it hidden. Neptune spoke directly to Keegan, almost ignoring the fact that Hesh was still in the room.

"Wait for Merrick to get back. The team needs to all be on the same page; we'll get nothing done by bickering among ourselves."

Neptune. Ever the level-headed, responsible one. Definitely born from experience; he was the oldest Ghost, older even than Hesh's dad had been. The one member of the Ghosts that didn't get out much, he normally worked the comm station when the others were in the field. A nagging feeling told Hesh he'd probably be seeing a lot more action in the next few weeks. Despite the sense in his words, Hesh didn't like being kept in the dark. He stepped between the other two in a bid for their attention.

"What did you mean, 'see you back at base'?" Even as he said the words, Hesh's brain started working. The U.S. had no bases in Chile. _We must not be in Chilean waters. But where are we, then? _

Keegan stepped up and grabbed him by the arm.

"Come on, kid. Let's get some chow. You've got to be starved." As if on cue, Hesh's stomach moaned like a dying whale. He had to admit, he _was_ hungry. Letting himself be led away, he glanced back at Neptune in the control room, and caught a bit of his conversation before exiting.

"Merrick? Change of plan. Hesh is up…"

Whatever was going on, they didn't fool him. He _would_ figure out their strange behavior. But for now he agreed with Keegan: food was a priority.

The mess hall was deserted, only one or two techs tucked away in the various corners of the room. Keegan kept a tight hold on him until they were at the head of the chow line, only releasing his arm to grab a plate.

"Come _on_, Keegan, throw me a rope here. What's going on?" His voice betrayed a slip of the desperation he was feeling on the inside. As they walked to a table, Keegan met Hesh's eyes for the first time today, revealing only guilt and pain behind them. He stayed silent until they were seated, and finally met Hesh's gaze squarely instead of dodging it or sliding it off to the side. He looked tired.

"Listen, Hesh. Just leave it, okay? We haven't told you, but-"

"That's been happening more and more lately." Hesh mumbled under his breath. Keegan paused to give off a peeved look before continuing.

"_But_ we've got a new base of operations for the Ghosts. The Adamant is needed for other ops, so we were supposed to move off tomorrow, but now we're moving the schedule up a little."

"Let me guess: _I'm_ the monkey wrench?" Keegan opened his mouth to speak again, but Hesh cut him off.

"I get it. You can't tell me. At least answer me this: how long was I out?"

_How long has Logan been gone?_ Keegan sighed and rested his elbows on the table, massaging his temples with his fingertips.

"A week, but—" He started without looking up.

"A _week?_" Hesh was stunned. _I wasn't _that_ badly hurt. Logan has been missing for a whole week? _Hesh inhaled to spew off more questions but was stopped by a spaghetti-laden fork in his face.

"Look. We're moving out in two hours. We'll meet up with Merrick and he'll explain everything."

Hesh bit back a retort along with his flood of questions, and forced himself to wait the extra hours to get his answers.

* * *

Rorke stared downwards, an expression of pure contempt on his face. Ten feet below him, mired in mud, sweat, and blood, was the hunched form of a man.

Logan Walker. Rorke smiled at his work. The boy was the very image of misery; he looked exhausted, huddled close in on himself, trying to save his body heat. He cradled one arm close to his chest and his features were discolored with bruising from the beating he'd gotten.

Seven days. All it took was seven days to bring the boy this low. Tilting his head back, Rorke let the cool drizzle sting across his face. Whoever said it never got cold in the Amazon had clearly never visited at night in the rain.

Giving the shivering form in the pit one last glance, Rorke turned back towards the bunker and headed in, out of the rain. If the weather tech was right, a literal flood was on the way. He could taste an electric tang on the air; it was charged like the excitement he always felt before an op. Volatile and dangerous. No way did he want to get caught out in that storm.

_Can't say the same for my little guest._ Rorke wondered how long it would be before he went hypothermic. In his mind's eye, he smiled at the kid treading water for hour after hour in the pouring rain and lightning storm.

For the moment, Rorke reveled in his self-glory. He envisioned the mighty name of Walker brought low, dragged through the dirt and set, broken, on a pedestal for all to see. Those two had had no idea what was coming after them. They were just boys, children by his standards. They began fighting when they were teenagers, and ten years later, they _still_ know nothing of war. Rorke wondered what went on in his prisoner's head, what twisted ideas of _family_ and _loyalty_ he still clung to. If it was anything like what had gone through his own head all those years ago, then he would be close to breaking already. The few times Rorke had questioned him had led to nothing, no response. The kid refused to give in, but all that was about to change, he would make sure of it. After all, it had only been a week.

If he was entirely honest with himself, Rorke would admit he was impressed by the boy. But he was never honest. He never told the truth if he could help it, and treated everyone else like anything they said was a lie. It was the only reason he was still alive to work for his deceitful commanders. Even still, for a _boy_, he was much stronger than Rorke would have thought. The man he used to be would have had a grudging respect for the kid. Logan had an iron will. From what he'd seen so far, this quest of his could drag out for months. Rorke saw now why Elias had made his sons Ghosts, though he still thought the other boy, Hesh, was a weakling.

_Ghosts finish the mission._ The thought, a mockery of what he'd once believed, drifted through his head, only to emphasize his point. Rorke knew how to play games with people, mess up their heads. All that he did in the train car (before they'd pulled their crazy-ass stunt, anyway) was a mind game. It would have taken a blind man to miss the uncertainty that replaced the cold determination on Hesh's face when the tables were suddenly turned on him. The boy was too confident. He treated the battle like it was already won. That's the kind of arrogance that gets people killed. And it would have, had Rorke not wanted to turn Logan.

See, the younger boy has what it takes. The fire Rorke had first noticed only burned brighter the more times he saw the kid. He knew what he had to do and wasn't afraid to do it. He wasn't afraid to sacrifice everything. He'd shot Rorke, yes, but he'd also shot and nearly killed his own brother to finish the mission. Some say you have to lose a piece of yourself to become a Ghost. Logan hadn't lost it. He'd given up the piece willingly, and that made him deadly.

The director had asked Rorke to choose. That whole last mission had had one purpose, summed up with one sentence,

"I'll give you a hundred men, for one more Ghost."

Merrick and Keegan were old, worn-out, and too set in their ways. The other two were just boys, and wet behind the ears, but still young and impressionable. They would be easier to turn. All things considered, he would have liked to take both of the Walkers. Wouldn't that be the perfect end to his former team? Killed by the sons of a man they had trusted. It had come down to his choice. Hesh was too impulsive, too volatile. But Logan, green though he may be, he was five times as tough as his brother. Passionate, driven, resilient, he fought with a fire, but he was also somehow submissive. A follower, not a leader. He was the protected, not a protector. The kid could have been unbreakable, but Elias' training gave him this fatal flaw: he was only as strong as he was with his brother. Without him, he'd break like a twig underfoot.

It didn't matter. Rorke didn't want to _break_ him anyway. He wanted to _change_ him, and that was all too easy. All it took was patience… well, on his part anyway. Logan had all seven levels of hell waiting for him.

Rorke knew from experience, that pain can worm its way inside of you. It becomes a part of you, your constant companion, sometimes even keeping you sane. Once you accept it, there's no telling what it can do. Consume you. Change you. Set you free.

Pain will change the most loyal, idealistic fool into a dishonored bastard who kills indiscriminately. All it takes is time.


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: Hello again! I know it was a long wait, but it was an incredibly long weekend. All I can say is I was gathering writing references. (e.g. people-watching) Thanks to all for the reviews, and here is chapter five! Enjoy!**

* * *

Since the invasion in Chile, command had shut down the Ghosts until further notice. With the team having one each of MIA and WIA, it left four active members on the team; too few to continue supporting and recon ops. For the foreseeable future, the Ghosts were grounded, restricted to downtime. But then, no one ever really _enforced_ the downtime, anyway. If they needed to borrow a Black Hawk, they got to borrow a Black Hawk. It's part of the beauty of being a Tier One group, no one really questions you. It's only a matter of, "How long can we keep this up before someone reports us to command?"

Merrick strode into the base at Fresno, wary of the mass of soldiers surging around him. The op had been good. Successful infil. Snagged the intel. Smooth exfil. The whole thing was absolutely textbook. Even though the team was technically "grounded" Merrick had had them running constant intel ops. On a rotation, they could go out in fresh pairs every several hours. The only downside? Now they had about four gigabytes of data to sift through, and, from what Neptune had told him, one seriously pissed off teammate to deal with.

He and Kick went to their separate quarters and geared down. Merrick told Kick to go catch some _Z_s, and then, as much as he didn't want to, went to find Hesh. After ambling around the base for a few minutes he wandered into their makeshift rec hall. It wasn't much. Basically a couch and a ping-pong table with a coffee pot in the corner.

Hesh was crashed out on the couch. Elbows on knees, he was hunched over something, staring intently at it. Merrick walked up from behind him, and he looked up, closing the book in his hands.

"Merrick." His greeting was chilled, and the leader of the Ghosts took a moment to look at the kid before acknowledging it. All he had to do was meet his eerie gaze to know that all was not well.

"I suppose I have some explaining to do." He wasn't afraid to admit that he had kept information from Hesh. It had been necessary.

"Oh, 'you_ suppose_'?" Hesh scoffed and rose, taking an aggressive stance towards him. "Finally decided to bring me back in the loop, huh?" Merrick was at first astonished at the simple lack of discomfort in Hesh's movements. For a guy who'd been shot twice and was still "officially" sentenced to bed rest, he was getting around just fine. Even though neither of his bullet wounds were considered lethal, there had been severe blood loss. The medics promised a quick recovery… so long as Hesh followed their instructions. In reality, there was no telling when he'd be fit for duty.

"Relax, Hesh. That's why I'm here. We're _both_ going to come clean. You first." Merrick waved him off with a hand and took a seat in the folding chair across from the couch, motioning for Hesh to do the same. Reluctantly, he did, an eyebrow arched in confusion.

"Both of us? I already told y—"

"Tell me what _really_ happened on the train. Everything." Merrick deadpanned, bringing Hesh to a halt. The change in demeanor his words wrought was so sudden he had to do a double take to make sure it was the same person standing in front of him. Hesh had shut down, the request displacing him to the time a week back. Merrick could practically _see_ the memories replaying themselves in the younger man's eyes, and wondered how many times he'd already relived that day.

_ BANG! _

Hesh jumped out of his thoughts, startled to find that the leather-covered book had slipped from his fingers onto the floor. He hastily picked it back up, and set it on the cushion next to him when he slumped back into the couch. Merrick tilted his head curiously. Hesh had never struck him as the reading type. He knew the kid had seen the look, but had chosen to ignore it, leading him to think it was something personal.

"Right, uh… the train." Hesh sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He was obviously struggling to stay focused and concise. "Right after I radioed you about the safe word we breached the engine room. Took those guys out, but they disabled the engine. Breached the forward cabin; there were three others with Rorke. We took _them_ out, but, well you know he's a slippery bastard." His expression twisted into one of disgust. Merrick sympathized with him. Even after months of fighting and all that had happened, he _still_ couldn't believe that Rorke was the one behind it all; he was their fearless leader once… now he was their worst enemy.

He looked up expectantly at Hesh, waiting for him to finish, but he again had that faraway look in his eyes. Merrick figured this was probably what he was like when he first came to. Keegan had told him about it; the cavernous emptiness in his eyes, the way he looked absolutely defeated. Though now, the hollow void was filled with something else, a cold unending rage burned there, and while Merrick knew that that furor had just one target, it still unsettled him.

"And?" Merrick prompted. A shudder crawled down Hesh's spine. He sighed and began accentuating his dialogue with hand motions.

"Rorke had Logan in a headlock, the gun to his head… I- I couldn't think. What was I supposed to do?" His eyes flitted anxiously around the room, as if he was seeing the walls close in around him.

"Slow down, kid." Hesh took another deep breath.

"I threw away my pistol." He admitted to the surrender, shocking Merrick. The two had been utterly determined to take down Rorke, and when given the chance he threw it away?

"He would've killed him, Merrick. I couldn't live with myself if…" He trailed off, again, not wanting to make the words real. "He shot me next, and kicked me into the console behind me." Hesh glanced nervously up at Merrick, who stared at him with an intensity.

"You know, heh, it's weird, I felt so much calmer when he had the gun to _my_ head. I called 'checkmate', then Rorke started freaking out. I swear, I thought we were all going to die." He ran a hand through his hair. This was turning into more of a confession than a report. Merrick sat attentively, not commenting on the narrative, only matching the info to what he already knew. He remembered hearing Hesh's voice through the comm. So far the story matched up perfectly.

_ "Merrick, do you copy?"_

_ "Copy, Hesh." He replied, in no way prepared for the next communication._

_ "We're moving in on Rorke. If you hear the word 'checkmate', you will fire on our position. Confirm."_

_ "Say again, repeat your last?" He had been stunned and bewildered. Hesh didn't even take seconds to reply,_

_ "You heard me, Merrick! On 'checkmate', hit this train!" Then the two went silent for about ten seconds, doubtless having their own discussion, before cutting their mics back on. He heard snippets of what was going on._

_ "Engine's hit, hold on!" Merrick grew on edge, worried for his two operatives._

_ "You can't win, Rorke. It's over." Hesh's tone had sounded deadly, like a razor dipped in venom. He had heard the same dozens of times on other ops, with Keegan, Scarecrow, even Kick, formerly the youngest Ghost. It was the sound of a predator, locked in on his target._

_ The next sound coming through the speaker made Merrick wince in sympathy. It was a grunt of pain, followed by one of frustration. Then, what he had desperately hoped he wouldn't hear, graveled out and choked,_

_ "Checkmate." Merrick was forced to confirm. After all his hard work, coordinating LOKI, and covering those kids' asses for the shit they just pulled, he reopened the link to the crew in orbit._

_ "Icarus Actual, do you still have eyes on the southwest train?" The leader of the AFSOC team spoke over the line,_

_ "Affirmative." Merrick psyched himself up for what he was about to do. Sometimes he really hated being 'Overlord', as the two men he was about to kill had unceremoniously dubbed him._

_ "Belay previous order. Target the train and fire on it." There was a palpable silence before Lieutenant Collins' hesitant reply came._

_ "But sir, there're Ghosts on that train." Merrick just told them the truth, trying to get them to hurry before Rorke figured out what was going on and found a way out._

_ "The order _comes_ from the Ghosts. You're confirmed, repeat, confirmed. Fire on that train!" It was an agonizing few seconds longer until he could verify that the kinetic missiles redirected and impacted on the rails. Before interference cut out the transmission, he heard Hesh speak to Rorke, his loathing tempered with despondency,_

_ "You lost Rorke. It's _over._" The next sound to come had been screeching metal._

Merrick still had questions, and asked them to put together the pieces he was missing. The radios had had too much interference after the rods hit the cliff.

"What happened after? Did you two escape the cabin after calling the rain?" Hesh shook his head.

"We were inside it the whole time. The ride down was rough. I think all three of us came to within a few minutes. Logan was dazed, Rorke was up, and I was still coming around. We fought. He almost got me with his knife a couple of times. Logan eventually crawled over to where the gun had been kicked, and I held Rorke from behind so he could shoot him. It felt like I held him there for hours before he finally shot him… both of us. He hit Rorke in the heart, or so I thought. I blacked out again. Next thing I knew we were both back on the beach. He'd gotten us out, and by all rights Rorke was _dead_. Mission complete." Merrick had to agree. If he'd shot that bastard in the chest and left him at the bottom of the ocean, he would have treated him as dead, too.

"And then?" He probed. What could have happened, Rorke just came out of nowhere?

"Then… I don't know. We were relaxing, waiting for you guys. Next thing I knew Logan was screaming and he was standing there." Hesh squeezed his eyes shut again. Merrick didn't know what to think. Rorke had always been a hard son of a bitch, but this seemed beyond even him.

"Did he say anything?" That would be important. Rorke had always been in the bad habit of gloating over his rivals.

"Heh, 'Good job you two chuckleheads, you ruined everything'?"

Merrick sighed in frustration.

"What did he _say_? Word for word." Hesh closed his eyes and tremulously recalled the words that wrought such terror for him.

"He was talking to Logan: 'You would have made a hell of a Ghost. But that's not going to happen. There won't be any Ghosts. We're…'" His voice cracked. "'We're going to destroy them together.' Then he dragged him off. He's going to try and turn him isn't he?" Hesh's searched Merrick's eyes for any hint that would let him deny this conclusion, but his commander could give him none. Tears threatened to spill down his face.

"He's going to put him through all the shit that happened to him, and then I'm not gonna know my brother anymore." Hesh whispered, disbelieving. Merrick tried to come up with a way to comfort the young man across from him, but came up short. He wasn't very good at talking about emotions. Frantically, he searched for some common ground. A similar experience that they shared. His brain instantly jumped to Vegas, and he felt the anger that he'd felt afterwards flare up in him again. As much as he'd been called an 'unfeeling bastard' throughout his career, he _did_ know what it felt like to lose someone. He remembered the pure agony and sense of loss he'd felt when Scarecrow's body was dragged by. All he'd felt was an all-encompassing sense of _failure_. He had failed to protect his captain, no, not just his commander, his _brother_.

Merrick realized that that was what Hesh must be feeling like, only worse. The two boys were blood brothers in every sense of the word, and it was obvious. They were tied by blood: they grew up, trained, and fought together; Hesh knew Logan better than he knew himself. They had bled _for_ and _on_ each other, and had felt the warmth of blood from their enemies as they _killed_ for one another.

The closest he'd ever come to knowing brothers had been in the Ghosts. The others, the original fourteen, he remembered each and every one of their faces. Every one of their deaths still felt like a red-hot knife between his ribs, now that he knew who had done it. They had been killed in action one by one, picked off over the years. Looking back, he saw the pattern; Rorke had been hunting them longer than they ever knew. Those men had been his true brothers, but they were all gone, all because of a man they'd once called friend, and he'd been powerless to stop him. He'd failed them all.

Strangely, and suddenly, he felt the need to protect Hesh. Family is like an extension of a person, as vital to existence as an arm or a leg. Maybe he could start his penance for failing his friend those scant two weeks ago if he looked out for his children. It was all he could offer. He would help Hesh, and he _would_ help get Logan back. Hell, despite himself, he'd grown attached to both of them; they were good soldiers. Merrick reached out and awkwardly clapped Hesh on the shoulder. He looked up, surprised, and it was obvious that his CO was uncomfortable. The kid had the nerve to smirk, and that prompted Merrick to speak,

"Listen kid, we'll get him back. Even if Rorke does try to brainwash him, we'll find him before it ever gets that far. Logan's strong. He'll last." Merrick doubted the words even as he said them, but they seemed to reassure Hesh.

"You're right. We _will_ find him. I won't fail him again." Hesh unwound a little. Merrick hadn't noticed how he had grown increasingly agitated over the course of his narrative. Since he seemed settled down now, Merrick hoped he would forget that he had questions too. They had their little 'bonding' moment, and Merrick didn't want to ruin it.

"You know better than I do what's happened since then." Merrick cursed inwardly.

_Well that didn't take long. _The accusing, upset tone was back, and Hesh stared at him, his eyes hungering for answers.


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: Another long gap between updates, I know! I might have rushed the editing and proofreading a bit so let me know if there are any loose ends. I wanted to get this out today because I have orientations coming up and will be busy for several days. Anyway. It will probably be a while until the next update. Enjoy! (And I _promise_ the action will start picking up soon!)**

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It was good that Merrick was a man of few words, since Hesh seemed determined to let everything he said make him angrier. He paced in circles around the ping-pong table while Merrick poured himself a cup of coffee.

"Let me get this straight. I was brought back to the Adamant?"

Merrick nodded.

"You _knew_ that Logan was MIA? You _knew_ that someone had taken him?" He paused in his circuit to meet his CO's eyes as he took a sip of the dark liquid. He nodded again.

"And you _still_ recalled the recon team when they could have tracked him and brought him back?" Hesh's voice had grown more and more outraged with each question. Merrick finally lowered the mug from his lips and made to reply,

"Kid,—"

"Don't _'kid' _me!" Hesh yelled, drawing quotes in the air with his first two fingers. "Why would you leave him out there?" They had been arguing for the past hour. Hesh couldn't seem to get his head around the idea that Logan was gone.

Merrick saw the need to slap some sense into him, and was determined to make Hesh see his side. As much of a pain in the ass as Hesh had been, he was still a member of the team, and he owed it to him to keep him in the loop. He set the mug of black coffee on the counter next to him and raised his voice a little to match the kid's fervor.

"_I_ had to think tactically. _I_ couldn't go running off on a personal vendetta in the heat of the moment!" Merrick paused to point the figurative finger of blame, _'If you two had kept your heads, none of this would have happened in the first place. But _no_, you just _had_ to go after him.'_ Hesh picked up on the unspoken message, taking it like a physical blow. Merrick plunged onwards before he could reply,

"_I_ had to stop and think about the team, our resources, and the _consequences_ of any action taken. _I_ was operating with _no_ intelligence, save that you said you had killed Rorke. _I_ didn't even know there _was_ an emergency until after Neptune called it in." Despite his constant promises to himself to keep his ire in check, Merrick was in as much of a rage as Hesh. It was becoming more and more of a challenge to be patient with the kid. The more he told Hesh about his actions a week ago, the more heated their conversation became.

"Start again." Hesh commanded. It was strange to hear him address Merrick, his CO, with the tone of authority he now used. He almost berated him for it, but he had been trying to give him at least a little slack. The kid had just lost the only family he had left.

Even still, Merrick was at the end of his rope. He knew what Hesh was doing. He was cross-examining him, checking to see if the facts Merrick told him lined up with what he remembered, and then making him repeat himself to make sure the story was the same every time. He was verifying the facts, combing through each account for discrepancies, making sure everything lined up. It was a lie detector test. Merrick had done it himself not half an hour ago.

"No. _This_ is what happened: Kick and Neptune recovered you from the beach and took you back to the Adamant, and then you woke up a week later after we'd been ordered to move off." When Merrick paused for breath Hesh interrupted.

"But that's not everything." Merrick searched for Hesh's eyes, incredulous.

_How does he know? _

"There's something you're keeping from me." The voice was level. When Merrick met the younger man's gaze, it was calm, like the stillness of the mountains before a rainfall. Steely and piercing, Hesh didn't meet his eyes, but instead, watched him. Every breath, every slight shift, down to the smallest twitch was noted and catalogued by those unnerving eyes. He watched and waited for his answer, long promised but not yet delivered.

_Should I blame myself for not wanting to tell him? _Merrick gave Hesh full marks for spunk. He'd hoped the younger man would have been distracted enough with providing intel on what happened before Logan was taken that he wouldn't remember what he had said about coming clean. Wrong. He was quickly learning that where family was involved, there was no length Hesh wouldn't reach to discover the truth.

"You don't get knocked out for seven_ days_ from a couple measly bullet wounds. Seven _hours_, maybe, but not seven _days._ There's something you're not telling me, and I _will_ find out what it is." He knew they were hiding something. Since Merrick was now officially fed up with Hesh's childish behavior, he deigned to give him exactly what he wanted: the cold hard truth.

"We brought you back here. The medics had one hell of a time patching you up. Between blood loss and the water in your lungs, you were _dying_." Merrick tried to emphasize that his decision could be justified a little simply because it saved Hesh's life, but the kid didn't seem to care.

"While they worked on you, I sent out another recon team, but by their report, all traces of Rorke and Logan were gone." He was careful to keep his voice deadpan. Hesh had a talent for eliciting emotion. Even if he might feel remorse, Merrick couldn't show it. He kept telling himself he had made the _right_ choice, even if it may not have been the _best_ one.

"By the time the second team got back, the Adamant had been ordered back to California. Top priority from command, there was nothing I could do. I knew you would fly off the handle – and probably do something stupid and get your ass killed – the second you found out. I'm not far wrong, am I?" Merrick met Hesh's gaze squarely and was satisfied when his subordinate withered slightly with the weight of it, a hint of guilt crawling into his eyes.

"It was probably about seven hours before the medics told me you were coming around. Your vitals were reaching normal and you looked fine… so I had them sedate you."

Hesh was shocked. It was scrawled across his face and in his tensed muscles. He stopped breathing for nearly a full minute.

_Who knew it was possible to leave Hesh speechless?_ Merrick leaned against the counter, watching the younger man. On the outside, he was stoic and relaxed, but he coiled up him muscles on the inside, keeping them tensed, taut, and ready to react to whatever outburst might come next. When the kid spoke again his voice seemed smaller.

"Merrick… what?"

"I had them keep you under for the rest of the week, and honestly, it has saved me a dozen headaches from you for _exactly_ what you're doing right now." Merrick spoke his reasoning, hoping that Hesh would understand. He'd done it to protect him from himself. Hesh began to slowly walk forward, his voice rising with each step.

"You had me _drugged_? What the _hell_, Merrick?" Clouds had sprung up in his eyes, betraying his frustration.

"You should _thank_ me! I knew this would happen. I had you drugged so that you wouldn't go batshit insane and try to go after them. The only thing you would have accomplished is getting your ass killed." Merrick stood up straight and rose to Hesh's level, equaling the malice he saw in the younger man's gaze.

"How do you think _you_ would feel if a man took your family, your blood, and left you behind, helpless." He was right in Merrick's face now. He had thought Hesh's eyes were harrowing from a distance, but up close, they were hollow pools of pain, sparkling with unspilled tears.

"Hesh—"

"HE'S MY FUCKING BROTHER, MERRICK!" The captain was taken aback by the sudden force of the shout. "What kind of a captain _are _you? Do you even care—" Hesh shut up abruptly when Merrick seized him by his shoulders and swung him into the wall to their side.

"HEY!" _Now_ he had his attention. Hesh fell silent and stared at him through a grimace.

"You think _you're_ the only one that's hurting from this?" It had been _years_ since Merrick had lost his temper with a subordinate, and that hadn't ended well. Still, if he could scare some of Hesh's brains back into him, to keep his instincts in check, it would save them both a world of trouble.

"Logan is your brother, I get that, but he's also a member of this _team_. He's one of_ us_, Hesh. We don't betray our own. We've busted our asses this week, running ops for _days_. I pulled all the strings I could find, we searched for him with every resource we had, all while _you _were back here getting your beauty sleep."

"_Forced_ beauty sleep." Hesh mumbled. Merrick pulled him forward a few inches before slamming him into the wall again.

"I'm not finished!" He snarled, plunging on,

"Next time you go for a rampage around base, why don't you just look at them, instead of jumping down their throats? We're exhausted; dog dead tired, and you know what we've got for all our hard work? Nothing. Fucking _nothing._ Rorke _vanished_." On day five of the search the haggard faces and long expressions had told him that it was almost time: they had to give it up. But he had refused. He couldn't leave his man out there, alone and afraid. As tough as they are, no Ghost lasts forever. As much as they pretend the Ghosts are invincible, everyone has their breaking point. No one has any idea where Logan's is; that meant they had to hurry.

"And _you_." Merrick jabbed his finger into Hesh's chest. "I'm tired of dealing with your _shit_. You have no right to say I didn't try. You have _no right_ to say that I don't _care._" Merrick paused to take a second's break. His voice had almost cracked on his last sentence. He hadn't wanted to get this emotional.

But why shouldn't he? Why did he throw up walls where there should be bridges? Logan was a good kid, and a good friend to the others, but for all his bluster about Logan being a member of his team, he didn't know much about him, save that he was Elias' son, and he was a damn good soldier. Was that the only reason he wanted to rescue him? Because he's a good soldier, and he's needed in the field?

_What a sad excuse_.

Merrick could truthfully say he _did_ know the Walker boy, though. He'd fought beside him many times, both before and after he'd proven himself an excellent soldier. He'd saved the kid's life _more_ than once. Hell, he'd been there and seen the darkest part of his character, when they were escaping Vegas. Rorke's voice came over the loudspeakers and his expression had transformed, instantly, from hollow resignation to seething rage. In fact, it was very similar to the look he was getting from Hesh right now, though the older brother's was a bit watered down.

"You couldn't have helped. If _we_ couldn't find him, what do you think _you_ could have done, wounded and blind?"

"Fuck you, _sir_." Hesh spat out, looking very much like he would quickly rise into shouting and give Merrick a _real _piece of his mind, despite the fact that he was on the verge of tears.

"Stop it. Stop fighting me. And stop blaming us." Merrick released him and let Hesh turn away, towards the door. He added one final comment as the younger man rushed out.

"If you can't get yourself under control, I _will_ remove you from this team."

* * *

Hesh stormed down the corridors, the bland wood finish grating against the veritable cloud of frustration he had gathered. He didn't care who the next person he saw was, he would rip their throat out if they tried to calm him down. It seemed like that's all anyone wanted to do these past couple of days. Their voices echoed through his head,

"Calm down, kid. Don't hurt yourself, _kid_. Relax, _KID_." What was with that, anyway? He wasn't _that_ much younger than the others. It made him angry. So angry he wanted to kill somebody. He barely cared _who_ it was, he just needed to choke the life out of something.

_Thinking like that won't help you get Logan back_. Hesh nodded begrudgingly to the part of him that still had the level head and reasonable thinking that he'd been promoted for. If he wanted back in the field, he needed to heal up, and get set right in his head, otherwise he wouldn't be able to go out there, save Logan, and get his revenge.

_If only he hadn't kept me under for so long. _He felt justified in his rage, and gave it free reign over his mind to wash away the pain from his agitated movements and the schism forming in his soul. He'd been thrown for a loop, by his own CO. He'd been tricked, no, _betrayed_. Sure, Hesh had had his fair share of frustrations with Merrick, but this went above and beyond anything he'd ever done before. Hesh had refused to accept the lie they told him, but now he was realizing that he might have been better off believing it. Maybe then he could live with himself, and his team.

Hesh looked around, coming out of his thoughts and found himself at his assigned quarters. This base was different from what he was used to in Santa Monica, where all the men from the same platoon shared a barracks. This base was equipped with individual rooms (for special ops use only); they were spare and drab, very Spartan-looking, but were just big enough to fit in a narrow bunk bed, two small dressers, and a chair. He found himself feeling grateful for the walls to separate him from the rest of his team, "team" meaning Merrick. He couldn't trust himself to be in the same room as his CO without punching him across the jaw.

The only downside to the room was the bunk bed. He looked at it and was suddenly drowning in painful memories. He and Logan had grown up with one in their shared room: Logan had had the top bunk, and he'd had the bottom. They had kept it that way when they joined the Army, and even up until a couple of weeks ago when their lives were turned upside-down, _again._ The empty space between the mattress and the ceiling just looked so _wrong_, so adverse to what he was used to.

Hesh sighed and lay down on the lower bunk, his "spot". Just like a whiny little brother, Logan always pitched a fit when he sat up top - not in so many words, as much as his behavior towards him. Hesh had always wanted the upper bunk, but he knew already that he wouldn't feel comfortable up there. As he reclined, he pulled the small bound book from his pocket. It had a red leather cover, and though the spine was broken in one place, it was in fairly good condition.

He pondered how he'd come across it. As the team left the Adamant, Keegan had told Hesh to grab his things from the room they'd been given. He'd grabbed the few personal effects he had and was about to leave when he noticed the rusty cover looking back at him from Logan's bunk. He had no idea how Logan had held onto it through everything that happened in Santa Monica and Vegas. The old base had been destroyed and at the "safe-house", Rorke's men had searched them. They took everything.

And yet, here it was.

Hesh flipped it open to the inner front cover and took in the even, neatly spaced handwriting. It read:

Logan James Walker  
July 23, 2000

With a shock, Hesh looked up at the calendar the last occupant of his room had left on the wall. Today was July 13.

_Ten days until his birthday. _He would be twenty-seven. Hesh instantly made himself a promise. In the next ten days, he would find Logan. In the next ten days, he would save him.

That resolved, he made to turn the page before stopping himself. Would Logan be okay with him reading this? A man's journal is his refuge, one of the only places he can trust himself to feel weak. What would he find in the midst of Logan's thoughts? A chill crept down his spine, but he shook it off. It would be alright. Logan wouldn't mind. They had always prided themselves on the fact that there were no secrets between them.

_I'm about to find out if that's really true._ The first page was dated back in March, months before any of the mess with the Ghosts and Rorke happened.

Well, here I go.

Sometimes, when the guys get some downtime and some money (unfortunately the two have to coincide perfectly) we'll all pitch in for some beers and have what passes for a "party" in the barracks.  
With time, I discovered that alcohol affects me in strange ways.

After the first beer, I start wondering the strangest things. Like, "Do penguins have knees?" Or, "Why do British people's accents seem to vanish when they sing?"

Then, later on, after I've had two or three, I start to wonder things like, "What does the team actually think of me?" and, "Would they notice if I suddenly vanished?"

Then I realize that it wouldn't surprise me if they didn't. In all honesty, I'm like a ghost around them. Or a shadow. They certainly give me looks like I am one. I'm always that guy hovering quietly in the background. I don't talk much. I'm awkward with the guys. The only people I feel comfortable around are Hesh and Dad (go figure).

Usually it's well after the third beer that I start to realize that if I died or went missing on a mission, it would be very easy for my team to forget about me.

And, for whatever reason, that scares me more than anything. The thought of it is terrifying. I don't want to be forgotten. I want my team, my friends, and my family to remember me.

Now you know why I'm writing this.  
To whoever is my reader is (even though we both know who you are), I just want you to do one thing.

Remember me.

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**AN: In case it wasn't obvious. Logan's journal will always be center-justified and the action in the present will remain left-aligned.**


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: First off: I AM SO SORRY! I feel like such a jerk, leaving you guys for so long. I promise I did NOT fall off the face of the planet! It was just a REALLY long week. So, anyway, here is chapter seven! As usual, let me know if you spot any issues! Criticism is just as welcome as praise! And thank you all for the lovely reviews and follows! You guys are awesome!**

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Hesh flipped the page, already upset by the first paragraphs. Did Logan really think those things? Did he think that he could _ever_ forget him? He desperately hoped not.

The first entry had no date… it was almost like an introduction, or prologue. Despite his melancholy of a moment ago, he found himself laughing at Logan's depiction of their family when they were young.

I absolutely adored my big brother. Hesh is a year older than me, and we do everything together. All I ever wanted to do when we were young was hang out with him, and try to be _just_ like my big bro. To be honest? Not much has changed since.  
Though we were a grade apart, he always sat with me during school lunch. When we hopped off the bus we'd go straight to the backyard and play football or frisbee (I was better than him, though he'd never admit it). We stayed out 'til dark every day, especially in summer, swimming, playing football or basketball, and even wrestling occasionally. Anything we _could_ do together, we did. Even when Hesh tried to leave me at home and slip out alone, I didn't care that I was breaking the rules too, I followed him _everywhere_. I had his back and he had mine. _That_ was all that mattered to us.

My friends' complaints often confused me:

"My sister just doesn't get it! I deserve some time alone! Why do _I_ have to put up with her all the time?"

_Because you're her elder sibling and she looks up to you; because she loves you and considers you her best friend? Or wait, is that just me?_

He got me in _so _much trouble. Hesh was more rebellious, but I wasn't exactly a model child either. We were more like partners in crime. Once he wanted to go out to a concert with some friends, but he was grounded for accidentally shooting the neighbor's mailbox, so I helped him sneak out by distracting Dad with "movie night"… well, anyway. That _particular_ sneak attempt didn't end well.  
I never really cared, though. It wasn't like he ran off and used me as his whipping boy. We stuck together.

We spent so much time hanging out, getting up to trouble, and practicing sports, that homework and school projects often went out the window. That bugged mom. She was always stressing the importance of our education,

"Schools exist for a reason!", "How do you expect to get anywhere in life with grades like _these_?" she often asked when our report cards came in. It wasn't that we didn't know the material in our classes. We would just rather spend our time outside of the house. (I can't imagine _ever _being tied to a desk for longer than an hour)  
Mom loved us though, and she loved dad, even though he was never there for us.  
Well, at least I thought she did.

Hesh put the journal down for a second and stood, crossed the room, and locked the door. He was barely a page into it and he was tearing up. It was like hearing Logan speak; he could _hear _his voice in every word, the highs and lows of it highlighting his unique brand of snark. The voice of his brother echoed around, making him ache to hear it for real.

He propped himself up against the wall so as not to strain his stomach, and glanced at the clock.

1900\. Good, he had plenty of time to be alone. It wasn't like he had anything to do anyway. He just wanted relax and unwind for a while.

So, yeah.

I had the deepest respect for my parents, and I know Hesh better than I know myself. I saw us as wonderfully interdependent, always able to rely on one another's love and friendship when it really mattered.

I admit, I probably overdid it with the description, but that's the way it_ really_ was.  
Blissful and perfect.

Then, of course, there was high school. Actually, it was eighth grade that was the worst.

Ehrm, anyway. Mom was _awesome_. There's a keyword there: was.

She had an intense personality and only _slight_ issues with perfectionism. She always pushed me and Hesh really hard in school, partly because she was finishing up her PhD in psychology. She was also an accomplished author and had published two books in her area of neuropsychology. That's what I've been told about her anyway.  
I don't remember what she was renowned for, I remember her for the _mom_ things she did. I remember her wavy blond hair and sparkling green eyes; fleeting impressions of the scent of waffles and fresh laundry. To this day they warm my soul and remind me of her (Despite all the bitterness I've saved up over the years). It's a sappy, squishy feeling I get that turns my insides to jelly, then I think I'm feeling her hair tickle my face the way it did when I was five and she scooped me up in her arms as I raced Hesh to the door (and lost). To this day, certain things still remind me of her. Like the waffles (even though we have to go to IHOP to get them) and the laundry (except it will never smell nearly as good as that Snuggle bear used to make it).

Yeah, okay. I know I'm crazy.  
Shut up.

Hesh actually laughed out loud. He knew Logan could be animated when he tried, but it had been so long since he'd seen that side of him that he thought it had died out years ago. He plunged back in, noting apprehensively the date at the top of the next page, 09/27/13. It was the day mom left them; a bitter, hated day. They never knew why, or where she went, she just left. Dropped off the face of the earth. It completely blindsided the family.

He was now one hundred percent certain that Logan's journal was going to break his heart into even more shattered pieces. To say the very least, the text was unsettling: reading about his own life in such explicit detail. Coming from anyone else, the journal would have been disturbing, just by the depth of detail that Logan had written about Hesh's life. They had spent so much time together, they probably shared ninety percent of their memories.

Hesh laughed inwardly. If _anything_ was disturbing, it should have been _that._

His eyes scanned down the pages, reading about the football game, how dad surprised them by appearing at half-time, then hitting up the pizza joint afterwards to celebrate. They brought dad home and chatted him up until about two a.m. before he made them go to bed. He stayed curled up with mom on the couch and Hesh and Logan snickered as they slipped upstairs, their childish brains guessing what they would probably be up to later that night. But the next morning, they rose early only to find dad sitting alone on the porch, staring into the distance. He looked haggard and tired, like he hadn't gotten any sleep. He looked _lost_. Still buzzing on their ecstasy that he was _home,_ they tackled him with hugs before asking where mom was. All they could get out of him was, "She's gone."

Hesh remembered it all too well. Confusion, resentment, and a consuming anger towards both his parents. Whatever happened between them, behind closed doors, had to be someone's fault. He had gotten into it bad with dad. Logan's reaction was quite different:

You never know what's gonna stick out in your memory.  
The last words mom ever spoke to me?  
"You talk too much."

She said it jokingly, of course, when we were hanging out in the living room after going out for pizza, and with that half-annoyed smile she wore when she couldn't decide if I was being obnoxious or cute.

It shut me up good, that's for sure.  
She left, and I can't help but feel that it's somehow my fault. That I wasn't good enough for her. I was never very talkative, but after she left I was so devastated that I changed. She said I talked too much? I went silent, reconciling what I knew, and thinking that it would bring her back to us somehow.

You see how well _that_ turned out.

The Army shrinks tell me it's a psychological thing. I don't really know what half the stuff they say means, but I'm guessing it makes sense to _them_.

Anyways, I still hardly talk. And almost never to anyone other than Dad or Hesh, the two people I trust. Everyone else, I typically ignore.

It's gotten me lots of funny looks. Some people who are just trying to be friendly will walk up and try to strike up a conversation. I don't _mean_ to blow them off; it just feels like there's nothing worth saying. I just stare back in silence. Hesh calls me crazy because most of these nice people are pretty girls who are trying to give me their number. Apparently I'm 'hot', and a 'stud', as I've overheard some of them saying. Whatever _that_ means.

And, of course, there were bullies. What school _doesn't_ have them? There are usually three or four of them; they all hang out in a gang in their specific haunts.

When I couldn't avoid them, they would gang up on me. Sometimes it was funny, though. Since I hardly spoke, I mastered facial expressions, namely the "murderous glare" slash "steely-eyes" slash "bitchface"… yeah, you get the picture. It only took one look and the mob scattered. They still jeered at me though, calling out, "mute", "dumbass", and "Cat got your tongue, Walker?"

It was infuriating.

Hesh concluded that either one, Logan was a very dramatic and well-spoken teenager, or two, he just started writing his journal recently. He figured it was the latter, because Logan had mentioned "Army shrinks", meaning the medical officers who do psychological evaluations for infantrymen.

He _also_ knew that Merrick would make him see one before putting him back in the field and wondered if he could even pass a psych eval.

He glanced back over to the clock and decided it was time to turn in. He could continue this in the morning. He settled down surprisingly quickly, head spinning with the insane amount of things he had to think about: fooling the shrink, trying not to kill Merrick, and getting Logan back. Slowly, almost reluctantly, he drifted off to wait for another day, willing the nightmares not to come.

* * *

_ "Grab the gun!" Hesh kneed Rorke in the face and they grappled for a brief moment before he was lifted completely off his feet and slammed into the floor. The blow snatched his breath away, and the subsequent thrust to his ribs aggravated his already agonizing bullet wound. He choked the cry of pain down to a grunt as Rorke jumped on top of him, plunging his knife downwards. He caught his opponent's hands and stopped them mere inches above his throat, keeping it quivering there, its tip barely scratching the skin. They wrestled for control of it; in the struggling grip of both combatants, it gouged a shallow trough across Hesh's neck when he jerked his arms to the side, shunting the combat knife away and disarming his opponent. _

_ He quickly glanced right. Logan had sluggishly dragged himself to the .44. He aimed and fired._

Click._ The anticlimactic ping was the last thing Hesh wanted to hear. The pistol was empty. Scanning Rorke's chest rig, he spied the pouch where he kept loose cartridges for the revolver. Summoning all his strength, he punched Rorke hard in the jaw and ripped the pocket open, catching the cartridges as they fell, then threw them blindly to his right, too fixated on blocking Rorke's slamming fist to aim._

_ "Logan, here!" He heard the sounds of the chamber being opened and the spent casings and fresh shells clattering to the floor, and wished Logan would hurry; he couldn't hold him off forever. _

_ Suddenly, Rorke was off of him, lunging towards Logan in an attempt to stop him from loading the sidearm. Hesh brought his knee up faster, though, and the larger, less nimble man toppled. He wasn't down for long, but Hesh seized him from behind, bracing him in a firm headlock. Rorke fought, but couldn't get free._

_ He was able to watch Logan as he snapped the cylinder shut. He squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the bullet, straining every muscle, utterly focused on restraining the stronger man, but the blast never came. _

_ "Logan! Do it!" Seconds warped and felt like hours passing. _

Why hasn't he shot yet?

_He cracked an eyelid and peeked out at his brother. Logan wasn't even aiming the firearm, it rested in his hand. He stared at the sidearm, looking thoughtful for a moment, before a smile turned the corners of his mouth up. He relaxed on the floor. Hesh's eyes widened and panic gripped him. Rorke began to slip out of his hold._

Why aren't you moving? _Do_ something!

_ "Do it, now!" He screamed._

_Too late. Rorke was free. He got to his feet, spun, and kicked Hesh backwards into the wall. He coughed to help get his breath back and called out desperately to his backup, his wingman._

_ "Logan?!" Rorke caught him by his throat and pinned him against the cold steel. His face grew hot; his eyes threatened to pop out of his skull. He couldn't breathe. Logan walked slowly to Rorke's side, a bemused expression dancing on his face. His lips parted, but the voice that came out didn't belong to him. The Southern tainted tongue echoed throughout the cabin, taunting him._

_ "He's not your brother anymore. You left him behind." Hesh shook his head, both to deny Rorke's voice and to shake the black spots from his vision. He was losing it._

_ "He's _mine _now_. _Logan is gone."_

_ His brother raised the revolver and fired._


	8. Chapter 8

**AN: I still feel awful for not updating for _ages_, so here is another update. (within 24 hours of the last one! Woohoo!) I know the plot feels like it's crawling along right now, but I promise the action will pick up in the next few chapters! And as always thanks for the wonderful reviews!  
**

**EDIT: Okay, this chapter wasn't up to par, and I agree with the first review I got for it, "Too much Hesh." While he _is_ the main character, and his POV should be expected often, even I get tired of writing him. So here is the same thing, just a little changed, and hopefully less clunky!  
**

* * *

_ "Logan is gone."_

"NO!" Suddenly the crushing hand at his throat was gone, and Hesh shot upwards with a yelp, giving in to his first instinct and head-butting the man in front of him.

"Augh! Damn it, Hesh!" A familiar voice cried out. Hesh took a moment to calm his rapid breathing and gather his thoughts, and then looked up at Kick, who was holding his nose and grimacing. Hesh winced in sympathy. His morning voice came out as a dry croak when he spoke,

"Sorry man. I thought you were someone else." He nervously wiped his palms on his pants legs before a couple of lights pinged on in his head.

"Wait, how did you get in?" The door was locked last night. Kick chuckled nervously.

"I uh… I kicked the door in." He replied, his voice sounding clipped and nasal from his plugged nose. Hesh brought his eyebrows together in confusion, displacing the sweat that had gathered there. It ran down his nose and he wiped it off hurriedly, trying to hide the signs of his nightmare. The confused look was enough to communicate his question, though, and Kick shrugged, explaining himself,

"I came through looking for you since I didn't see you in the mess hall this morning." He said it as if it should have been obvious. "They made blueberry pancakes; I didn't think you would want to miss out." He released his nose and checked his hand: no blood.

Hesh stifled a chuckle at the simplicity of his reasoning. _I didn't want you to miss out on these epic pancakes, so I kicked in your door._ A true bro, that one.

"But when I got to your door I heard shouting and thumping. I tried yelling through it, but you just kept carrying on. I tried the handle and it was locked. So I got in here and woke you up."

"Well, thanks. What time is it?"

"'Bout oh-nine-thirty." Hesh blew out a breath and skimmed a hand over his buzz-cut hair, still shaking off the dream. Kick had already noticed that something was off though.

"Got nightmares?"

Hesh sighed.

"Yeah. Every night since… well, since I woke up." A bitter tone crept into his voice. _How many breakfasts did he let me miss _then_? Six? Seven?_

"Merrick was only doing what he thought was best, Hesh." Kick instantly jumped to defend his captain.

"Can we just…" He interjected, "Can we _not_ talk about Merrick? Please?" Kick smirked.

"Sure. Seriously, though, let's go get you some chow. I think they're still serving breakfast." Hesh glanced at the clock and didn't see Kick throw the t-shirt he had left on the chair. It smacked him in the face, giving Kick another laugh, and Hesh eased it on over his bandages before rising and following the older man, not caring that he was still in his sweatpants. As they walked up to the mess hall, Hesh came to a realization.

"Hey, Kick, I just thought of something."

"Oh? What's that?" He asked.

"I've known you for almost three weeks, and I don't even know your name." Kick just laughed. When Hesh gave him a look, he quieted down, and asked incredulously,

"Dude, you're serious?" Hesh nodded. He chuckled, and mock introduced himself, sticking out a hand.

"Dean Maverick, pleased to meet you, David." Hesh smirked, and laughed to himself as he shook the proffered hand.

"Oh, what's so funny? I'll have you know I'm very proud of this name." Kick shot Hesh a suspicious glance.

"It's nothing, just... Logan would have said it was the name of a movie star, not a soldier." Hesh imagined his eyebrows crawling all the way up his forehead, _"Names like that don't exist in real__ life.__"_

Kick scoffed and feigned offense, trying, and failing, to hide his mirth. He took a Batman-esque stage voice and said as they walked,

"My name is Maverick. Dean Maverick, and this is my partner, James Bond."

Hesh stared in shock for a full minute before bursting out laughing. He didn't know that Kick (or any of the Ghosts, for that matter) was even capable of comprehending humor, let alone cracking his own joke. They had been in such dire straits for the past month that there had been little time for horsing around. Of course, he and Logan had made their _own_ time; they would have gone crazy if they couldn't be childish every once in a while. Kick spoke again, almost as if reading his mind,

"What's the matter, David Joshua?" He slugged him in the arm and chuckled. "Your brother thought the same thing." That was shocking. Hesh shook his head to clear it and realized he'd been caught staring. The light in the corner of Kick's eye made him wonder for a split second if he had gone mad, but the use of his middle name made Hesh drop it. He changed topics,

"Dude, spill it. How did you know what I was thinking? And how do you know so much about us? Logan _spoke _to you?" Kick smirked again, but this time the smile had a sadness tugging its edges down.

"Yeah, Logan and I talked a lot after… well after Vegas. I got to know him a little. You two are very similar." He nonchalantly shrugged off the mind-reading. "And I helped him to work through some things. You know... afterwards."

Hesh _did_ know. _He_ was what Logan had had to work through. He dipped his head, ashamed of himself, but glad that they'd settled their differences before getting into the mess they were in now.

"As for knowing about you kids, that was all Scarecrow. Elias. You couldn't get him to shut up about you. He was one of the few Ghosts who had a family, so of course, every bit of news he got from Gen, you can bet your ass we heard all about it too. We had a lot of laughs at the expense of your growing pains, I'll tell you that."

As they walked into the chow hall, Hesh was lost in thought. The smell of cooking batter hit his nostrils, and he couldn't help but remember what he had read last night, what Logan had written about mom. He inhaled deeply through his nose.

_Pancakes… Waffles. Close enough. _Hesh noticed that he was hungrier than he first thought and piled his plate high.

"Did you know her? Gen, I mean." He asked once they sat down. It felt weird calling his mom by her first name. Kick thought for a moment.

"No. I saw her in a few video calls, but I never met her in person. On the rare occasion that we actually _got_ leave I visited my sisters in Jersey."

He nodded understanding, but found himself resentful of the man across from him. Kick had spent more time with his dad than Hesh himself had.

"But… well, I don't have to tell _you _the story. After Sand Viper the world went to shit _fast_, and the Ghosts were needed more and more. Scarecrow was either incredibly lucky, or had friends higher up than he let on. _No one_ in SF gets out in the middle of a global crisis. He had to have cared for you boys a helluva lot to do that, and you ought to know he was damn proud of you."

Hesh nodded and tucked in heartily to his breakfast. He and Dean talked for a good while and laughed over pancakes and orange juice, trying to shut out their melancholy. He decided that Kick was alright, and for a fleeting half-hour Hesh relaxed a little; it was like old times with his old team.

Until Keegan walked up next to their table.

"I hate to interrupt this little bro-fest," he said, deadpan, "but Merrick's looking for us. You too, Hesh."

The change in Hesh's tone and demeanor, from almost happy to resentful, was so sudden that Kick had to do a double-take.

"What does the old man want this time? To chew me out for sleeping late?"

* * *

Neptune sat at the side of the clearing, scratching the pup behind its ears. The German Shepherd sat and started kicking his back leg lazily.

"Yeah, that feels good, doesn't it boy?" He grabbed the dog on either side of its head, making it look at him, and rubbed his fingers in calming circles under its ears. For the past week it had been agitated and antsy, in a Shepherd, two _very_ hard traits to deal with. It stuck its tongue out and looked at him through half-lidded eyes, in that way that only a dog can.

"You miss them don't you?"

He shut his mouth and gazed morosely up at Neptune, letting out the tiniest whimper.

"Listen. Hesh is about to come through that door," Neptune spoke to the dog seriously, as if he were a nervous recruit being tasked with a mission. The dog's ears perked up slightly and he swept the dirt with his bottlebrush tail at the name of his handler.

"So I need you to love all over him, alright?" It seemed to look happier for the moment, and Neptune let go of its head, continuing to scratch behind its ears with one hand, while painfully aware of the stares and strange looks emanating from the three men speaking to Merrick across the clearing.

He was an old man talking to a dog.  
He wasn't all that impressed by the three new guys. They all stood nearer the entrance to the course, speaking with Merrick. The two Air Force boys looked skilled and competent, though one was obviously more green than the other. Their ABUs were clean and fresh, and though they stood at rest, their posture was perfect, ramrod straight. He thought he could work with those two. It was the third new member that he was unsure of. After decades of working in JSOC, he had learned how to size a man up, and this one was definitely trouble. His ACUs were old, and mussed up, and he wore his dark hair in an out-of-regulation mop. Neptune could practically _see_ the countless miles and battles rolling off of him, but he didn't wear them proudly. Instead, he projected an arrogant air, as if he owned the world. It was the worst way for a soldier to hold himself.

At the sound of footsteps coming from the other side of the door, the dog at his feet tensed, coiled as if to spring. Neptune spun the pooch around to face it and whispered in its ear as the door opened,

"Go get him."

He watched as Hesh exited the building and was instantly tackled by a tornado of fur and slobber.

"Riley!" He hit the ground with an _oof_ and wrapped the dog in a steel embrace, burying his face in the soft coat and breathing in the oily musk. He stayed like that, hugging his dog for a long moment before rolling Riley off of him. The dog just reached around to playfully lick his face, flopping across his knees at the same time. Hesh smiled for the first time in a week, and sat up cross-legged, pushing the wet nose away. Riley lay down and gently rested his head on his thigh, looking pitifully upwards as he did so, and let out a low, whistling whine.

"Ssh, it's okay, boy." Hesh lowered his head and whispered to the dog, who lifted his head and looked up, sadly.

Merrick cleared his throat loudly. Hesh seemed to realize that everyone was staring at him, and pushed Riley's nose down when it crept up to his armpit. Now that everyone around the obstacle course's attention was on him, he picked up on the icy look Merrick was shooting him, returning it for a tense moment, before rising, brushing the dust from his sweatpants, and standing in line with the other Ghosts, calling Riley to his side.

"Now that we're all here, we can get started." The CO began, and gave Hesh another pointed look that Neptune couldn't decipher_._

"Fall in."Merrick turned back to the three newcomers and spoke the command. The stepped in sync to form a line facing the Ghosts, and stood at attention.

"At ease, and welcome to Task Force Stalker, the dwindling remnant of the US special forces. You may have heard of the 'Ghosts'?" Two of the guys nodded affirmation, while the third stared stoically ahead, brow slightly furrowed.

"Welcome to the legend. You're here because, as I said, our numbers are few, and we'll be needed more and more as we pick up the fight against the Feds. You three are among the most qualified to join our ranks, but we still need to make sure you can survive on our team. Over the next three days you will be tested in physical strength, combat effectiveness, and mental ability. Best of luck, gents." Merrick then turned toward the assembled Ghosts and gave out their assignments,

"Kick, Neptune, run them through the obstacle course. Do as many variations as you like. Hesh and Keegan, go ahead and prep the firing range, they'll go over there later. I want reports on performance by this evening." After they all acknowledged their orders, he dismissed them to their duties. Neptune paired up with Kick and strode over to the three arrivals to introduce themselves and get them started running the course.


	9. Chapter 9

**AN: I am terrible at updating. I truly am sorry. Ugh. I don't even know how long it was this time! Anyways, the story is back (for today at least)! I think this is a pretty good chapter, even if I'm not **_**entirely**_** happy with it. I hope you guys enjoy!**

* * *

Hesh stomped beside Keegan as they walked the field between the obstacle course and the firing range. He was in a foul mood, and the frequent ballistic _crack_s from the range ahead weren't helping. After about a minute or so walking in awkward silence, Keegan took the bait with a sigh.

"What is it, kid?" It was obvious, even to the most oblivious observer, that Hesh was upset about something (and it was especially obvious to Keegan what that something was, but he asked anyway). His reply held an incredulous tone.

"New recruits? Testing? We shouldn't be here training, we should be out _there_ trying to _do_ something about this whole mess!" Keegan sighed and tried to explain in a reasonable manner. Merrick had told him all about Hesh's last blowup and he didn't want to have to deal with _that_ right now.

"Command needs us back on our feet. They've given us some downtime for now, to recoup and recruit some new members. We _can't_ be an effective team with only four active members. It's a smart move for us; build up our strength while we can. You know." Hesh seemed to concede the point, but continued to mumble and gripe about the situation.

"'Command needs us' my _ass_."

_Well you _have_ been an ass lately, but that's beside the point._ Keegan tried to maintain a neutral face. He didn't want to be forced to take sides in this stupid rivalry between Hesh and Merrick. He thought it would be better if he just locked the two in a room and let them wale on each other until they were chill again. That had always worked for him and his brothers growing up.

"It's just…" Hesh let out a suppressed sigh.  
"It…" He clearly didn't want to share what he was thinking.  
"It feels like he's _replacing _him." He finally confessed.

_That_ was something Keegan could relate to. His days before the Ghosts, when he was in Marine Recon, had been filled with casualties. He had lost so many close friends that he had eventually decided to stop making them. He distanced himself from his team as far as he could while remaining a part of the cohesive whole. But no matter how much he detached himself, he always felt the pain of their loss. The inevitable 'new kids' weren't all bad. They just had timing and fate against them. The team would call them 'greenies' and 'recruits', but in truth, no one operating on their level was truly new to the game; they were just a new face on the team. That was the only reason for the resent and loathing they received, but Keegan still hated them.

Until he got thrown together with fifty-nine other elite SOF operatives on a suicide mission. Complete strangers became close friends in an instant. It was necessary. They _had_ to trust each other or else the whole task force would have been a flop, the mission failed. The days they were on that op were the worst hell he could imagine, but he had come out of it closer to the other thirteen men than he had thought humanly possible.

That wasn't to say that they _knew _each other. They knew nothing of each others' likes, dislikes, family, past, circumstance, nothing. But something happens to you when you lie together with your brothers-in-arms, in pools of your comrades' blood, watching and waiting for an unseen enemy. You don't know whether death is coming for you, and if it does will it be fast and painless, or a slow tortuous bleed-out, mixing your own life force with that of those you've lost already? The level of fear and uncertainty is unfathomable to anyone who wasn't there, and so you are drawn to those who were. You cling to the comrades who came through with you because they _know_. They understand what you felt. And some people react differently than others, but at the end of the day, they were all new brothers, christened with blood and tested on the battlefield. It's a type of bond that doesn't break easily, and when the blood dries and the sweat is wicked away, that man will stand with you, because you pulled each other through your weakest times.

He couldn't understand how Hesh thought they didn't know what he was feeling, but the team _did_ feel this. Not to the degree of when they lost Ajax, Torch, or Gator, but the way he saw it: any man who will shed blood with you is a friend, and is to be protected, as simple as that.

Keegan got so lost in his own thoughts that he almost missed the shouted whisper from the man walking next to him.

"I just want him _back_." His voice came out husky and torn, and for the first time, Keegan heard him as a brother, just aching to be with his family again, a feeling he knew all too well. Hesh had stopped walking and stood, silently, eyes closed, looking like he was holding in a sob. The older Ghost found a bit of sympathy for the kid, and awkwardly placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly.

"I know." Keegan's voice was uncharacteristically gentle, and when Hesh's eyes snapped open, confused, to investigate the source of it, the moment was over and he had turned back to the firing range.

"Come on."

* * *

_My name is Logan Walker.  
I am an American soldier, and a Ghost.  
This is the ninth day that I've been stuck in this hell-hole._

_But that doesn't matter.  
Because they're coming for me. My brother and my team.  
They will save me._

_They'd better._

Nine days. Logan snorted inwardly and pulled his knees in closer to his chest. The only reason he knew how long it had been was because Rorke felt the need to carve a new mark in his arm for every day of his captivity. There were eight already there, and he had yet to face the sadistic bastard today. He adjusted the way he was seated, still leaning against the wall, so he didn't have to keep working to pull his feet out of the mud.

_At least this hole isn't flooded anymore. _Despite his promise to himself, his resolve to stay strong, the monsoon that buffeted his pit over the past couple of days had pushed him past the end of all endurance. The water was just deep enough that he had to tread water to stay above it, but not quite high enough so that he could reach the edge, or the cage above, and rest. He was so exhausted that he almost sobbed in relief when his feet touched bottom again. He would have begged, groveled, _anything_ to get out of there if there had been someone to hear him, but the guards had disappeared, unwilling to stay out in the storm.

A few hours ago, he was a sniveling, sopping mess, (not to mention _cold_) but now he strengthened his resolve again. The day had just begun, so Logan prepared himself. The maniacal glint he had seen in Rorke's eyes didn't bode well. He had a bad feeling that everything was about to get a whole lot worse.

He didn't have to wait long until his fears were confirmed. About an hour after sunrise, yelling in Spanish drifted down from above him, and the lid to his prison was lifted. A couple of guards dropped down and peeled him out of the mudslide. Setting him on his feet, they let go, but Logan let himself drop back into the slop. He was exhausted, and there was no way in _hell_ he was going to make this any easier for them. They kicked him, shouting in his ear what he assumed were commands to get up. It hurt, but he didn't really care. The pain was becoming a constant; over the days, he slowly grew accustomed to it. After a moment of yelling at him, they finally slung his arms around their shoulders and carried him up a pair of ladders, abruptly dumping him on the ground when they reached the top.

Logan wished he could fight, run, or at least struggle more to make it even the slightest bit harder for them, but he was too weak and tired. His starved limbs refused to obey, and remained stiff and sore from all the work they'd done treading water. He sluggishly twisted his head around and squinted up at his loathed enemy above. Rorke loomed over him, silhouetted against the morning sun. The white-gold light spread its rays around, looking for all the world like a halo crowning the former Ghost where there should have been horns.

He spoke something in Spanish and the guards on either of Logan side lifted him to his knees, holding him by his arms. Every time they touched his right arm he was plunged further into blazing agony. His head lolled on his chest, and he hissed at the pain. Fingers snaked through the tangled, matted mess that was his hair and jerked his head back.

"Are we ready to cooperate today?" Every time it started out the same. Logan spat out the bile he'd been saving up and aimed it right in Rorke's face. The man blinked slowly and wiped it off with the back of his other hand. It came away stained with pink.

"I'll take that as a no." Rorke's hand grabbed his head more firmly and pulled it back so that his mouth fell open. He unscrewed the canteen from his belt and poured the liquid into Logan's mouth. On contact it burned, like the sizzling aftertaste you get after throwing up. Some of it dribbled down his throat but he exhaled and kept most of it out. After a second of the downpour, Rorke clamped his hand over his mouth, sealing the acid in. Logan glared daggers up at him.

_I can still breathe, you idiot. No way in _hell_ will you make me drink this poison._ Even still, his mouth felt like it held burning lava, and it took more and more effort to keep his throat closed. He knew better than to swallow. The second day he was in the pit, they had fed and watered him. Logan ate everything and squeezed the water bottle dry. An hour later he was retching and coughing into the wet loam of his prison; he had thought his insides were going to be outsides.

Rorke pinched his thumb and forefinger together, over his nose, effectively sealing off Logan's airway.

"Swallow, and I might let you breathe."

He began to panic. Fear clawed up out of his chest and bloomed in his mind. It told him, "Just _breathe_, dumbass!" The now-familiar sting of coming tears prickled up at the corners of his eyes. It was all he could do to keep himself focused.

_Not now. Focus. Fight him._

He couldn't inhale; his lungs burned; his vision fizzled out at the edges. He tried shaking his head, leaning away, and struggling against the guards, who tightened their grip tortuously on his arms. Looking up, he saw the owner of the hand looking down at him without pity; his eyes were cold onyx globes, demanding that he swallow.

Out of air, and out of options, Logan downed the fiery liquid, instantly dizzied by the huge _pop_ in his ears.

The hand didn't move. Tears welled up in his eyes, threatening to spill over, and he continued to thrash.

_I did what you wanted! Let me go! _After what felt like an agonizing minute longer, Rorke released him and let him get the precious oxygen he needed. He gasped in lungful after lungful of air for a precious few seconds before Rorke wrenched his head back again and poured more of the fiery solution down his maw. He repeated the process several times, each time cutting off Logan's air for longer and longer until he swallowed the poison. His insides were starting to light up like he'd drank a gallon of spoiled milk. He guessed it would only get worse from there. Rorke spoke, his grating voice aggravating the swirling of Logan's muddled thoughts.

"The longer you keep this up, the more it will hurt. Soon, you'll learn that you _can't_ fight me. But for now I think I can settle for _whipping _some sense into you." He gestured to the few guards around them, again voicing his unknown instructions in Spanish. They complied without hesitation and Logan realized that the ground was sliding beneath him. His arm began to throb along with his heartbeat and many injuries, together they sent strange electricity across his skin that spiked at the slightest stimulus.

He didn't even realize that he was dangling from his arms until the guards released him and he stayed upright. His wrists were secured above his head, on either side of the pole that his head lolled against. It felt like a telephone pole, the cracked, pressure-treated wood biting into the bruises on his face. Vaguely, he wondered what Rorke had planned.

He squirmed against the restraints, despite the teeth-grinding pops that came from his right arm. Whatever drug was in that concoction was starting its work. His guts were tying themselves in agonizing knots, his head spun, and his eyes watered, spilling over into tears. The sun beat down and Logan noticed drops of sweat running across his skin. Their moist presence didn't bode well for the rest of the day. He squinted his eyes shut, focusing on taking the day one breath at a time.

"I think I'll let you '_cool down'_ for a bit before we get down to business." Rorke remarked, seeming pleased with his own irony. He made as if to walk away, but turned back as if he just remembered something.

"Oh! I almost forgot." He pulled his knife from its sheath in his boot and reached down quickly, placing another bloody tally next to the others on Logan's arm. Nine marks. Nine days. He blinked, but refused to do more than that. The pain in his limbs felt almost normal by now; a simple reminder that he was still alive.

"They still haven't come for you." The gravelly, yet somehow suave voice came as a whisper in his ear. Logan suppressed a shudder at his torturer's proximity. Then the presence was gone.

_Thanks asshole._ Rorke left for good this time, leaving Logan to bake and brood with his thoughts.

_Nine days._

_Please hurry, David._


	10. Chapter 10

**AN: I really suck at this whole "updating regularly" thing, don't I? So yeah, I'm just going to swear off that little commitment. The updates will come when they will come. Anyway, the next chapter. Things are happening, and the Ghosts are finally _doing_ something! (yay!) Enjoy the chapter!**

* * *

_Summer 2014_

We three grew even closer after mom left (if that was possible). Hesh and I, while close before, became literally inseparable. Seriously, we were joined at the hip. I even studied hard and took extra classes so that we would graduate at the same time (_okay_, maybe I'm overly attached to him).

Dad "retired", which is to say, he got a stable station close to home. I don't think he'll actually ever _retire_. He's too stubborn. Instead of being active duty, on some foreign base doing who-knows-what, though, he took a station in Santa Monica.

"_Welcome back to the States, Captain Walker! Let's give you a job, oh wait there's nothing available, looks like you're a Quartermaster Officer now!"_

Yep, that's basically how it happened. He went from active Army Ranger service to being a desk-jobbie in twenty four hours. He would occasionally consult and coordinate tactics and missions for other operators, but only rarely. Hesh and I both knew that it would have been _impossible_ for him to get out entirely, and we didn't want him to. But it was good having him around more. It made our house feel like _home_ rather than just the place where we lived, especially after everything that happened with mom. Whenever we asked him about how he got the posting, he just says he "pulled strings" in the ranks. That always made us wonder just how high up he had friends.

He worked on base in Santa Monica, basically having a 9-5 job. When he got home he would take off the uniform and relax with us, enjoying civilian life. We teased him endlessly saying he was going soft.

"Dad, you count cans of _food_ all day!"  
He only ever replied with a wry smile or a chuckle, saying,  
"There's a bit more to it than that, I promise."

The higher-ups at base knew of his tactical expertise, though, occasionally having him stay there for a weekend to work on an op. He had the nous to at least _act_ sorry whenever he told us he had to stay longer, but he couldn't hide the layer of excitement that hid beneath his skin, coming out of his eyes, and in every wired action before he left.

It sometimes felt like before, when he left us to return to duty. We knew he loved us, but he _missed_ serving. He couldn't _stand_ being out of the fight, any fight, especially if his company was engaged. The rare times he was home, he monitored the news like a hawk, trying to pick out details of what was happening overseas and wondering who was engaged where.

But he realized that _we_ needed him more this time. At least nowadays we don't have to worry about him not coming back. He's only an hour down the road when he's gone.

Despite the new responsibility he had, we all grated on each others' nerves, _especially_ Hesh and dad. The two were hotheads; they fought _constantly_; over the most trivial, petty things. I used to wonder where Hesh got his temper from, but ever since dad moved home, I don't _have _to. I found myself having to keep the peace between them _far _more often than I would like. I felt lost, and Hesh wouldn't even _talk_ to me like used to. We usually shared everything, but since dad had been home, we hardly spoke at all. It felt wrong, unnatural. The "arguments" were usually pretty one-sided, and went something like this:

"This is all _your_ fault! If you had just _been_ here, none of this would have happened! Mom was sick of it! She was sick of your _stupid_ job; she was sick of _you_. If you weren't off fighting your _stupid_ war, we would still have mom, and not _you_."

He practically spat that last bit, like it left a bad taste in his mouth, and then he would rant on for a few more minutes:

"I _hate_ you! What do you know? You don't _know _us. I wish you had just stayed in Israel! You're not our dad; dads are _there_ for their kids!"

Those fights were the hardest things for me to listen to. I earned myself a few black eyes trying to get between them and calm him down. Hesh only stopped when he realized that he was hurting me, too, not just dad.

I don't really know _why_ we became so distant from each other. We just didn't _know_ him. He was never here. For as long as I could remember, dad only ever visited once in a blue moon. _Mom_ raised us, but then she betrayed us? And we live with a dad we barely know? It was one of the most confusing times of my life. I didn't know what to do, and honestly, I was more than a little scared. They were some of the worst months I've ever lived.

Until dad started… teaching us things. Now that I think about it, for those last years of high school, there wasn't a time when he _wasn't_ training us for something. It was like he was preparing us, or grooming us for an inevitable task that only _he_ knew. I don't know. I was just grateful for the edge it gave me when I joined the Army.

We already worked out in the mornings before school, so he didn't worry much about our physical ability, but when school let out, he started training us. It started with hand-to-hand combat. We beat on each other for hours at a time. Teaching us the moves and forms may or may not have been the best idea, though. Every day we learned something new, one of us would ambush the other, or sometimes tag team on dad. It always ended up in a broken _something_ (insert: chair, table, lamp, microwave, etc.) in the house.

Next he drilled us with firearms. The Army gave him quite the taste for guns, and we got to use two of his old M4s. He taught us all sorts of things. We practiced with them, quickly becoming proficient, and he made us do all our own maintenance, teaching us the ins and outs of the bolt carrier, how to change barrels, and the art of field stripping the rifle without getting dirt in every crevice while putting it back together. He drilled us with iron sights at any distance between fifty and four-hundred yards until our eyes watered from the focus. Then we were cross-eyed and blind until we slept.

Weekends were special. He'd make us pack up, carrying minimal gear, and we would rough out the weekend in the middle of nowhere. Often, he taught us a new technique on the Saturday then turned us loose, telling us to go have fun with it and be back by dark. He taught us survival, stealth, the stalking of prey; we did a _lot_ of hunting (Deer are delicious, by the way. We had venison _steak,_ venison _burgers_, venison _roast_… you get the idea). At the end of the day, he told his war stories by firelight, all with a lesson to be learned. But later he'd let us crack jokes and we even laughed at his bad ones.

In the fall, when the chill crept back into the air, we grew mellow again, remembering what had happened not even a year ago, he took it up a notch. Everything got a lot _harder_. He started sending us out alone, and we never knew what to expect. Rest assured, you could live in fear all week with the thought, "What is dad planning _this_ time?"

It usually began with a short truck-drive to the woods, geared up and ready. He dropped us off and gave us one or two objectives. Sometimes we had to track him to a campsite, several other times we stalked deer, forced to get as close as ten yards before firing.

We enjoyed every second of it. We relished the challenge, and it felt _good_. Not to mention it was a distraction from… everything. The black hole left in mom's wake. Our complete lack of social lives. Having to learn to take care of ourselves and grow up just a little too fast.

It was _hard. Damn, _was it hard.

One mission is seared into my memory as a particular hell (on a scale of one to seven, I would say this was a five); the worst thing that ever happened to us during training. Dad dropped us in the middle of an unfamiliar area, and said he'd meet us back at the house. As simple as that. It was the middle of summer, the sweltering heat poured over us. With no water, and only our sidearms, a map, and a compass between us, we had to make our way back to the house. It started out fine: we found a creek and hydrated, filling our water bottles to hopefully last the day. It took a minute to get a bearing, but soon we were trekking north. We thought we were only six or seven miles out, so we set a nice, leisurely pace. As we hiked on, hour after hour without seeing any familiar turf, we decided to pick up the pace. We crossed a few more streams, refilled and rested for a few minutes. Jogging lightly through the woods (they call it the Ranger Shuffle), I think we crossed one or two small mountains.

The worst thing that happened was when we were running along a ridge and Hesh got his feet tangled in some tree roots. He face-planted, sliding halfway down the crest before stopping. When I caught up to him, his foot looked twisted at an odd angle, and he couldn't put weight on it without hissing or grimacing in pain. So we hobbled, me helping him hop along. Hesh took it like a champ, but there was no way he could weasel out of the new nickname he earned: "hop-a-long".

After a while, I began to recognize the woods around us… as the four mile point where we often hunted. Long since out of water, and a semi-conscious Hesh over my shoulders, I trudged the last few miles to the house. It was well after nightfall when we made it to our backyard, and I barely even made it inside before collapsing in a heap.

Everything after that is a muddled blur in my memory. Dad snatched Hesh from my shoulders and guided me to the couch with his free hand. After that I blacked out. I woke the next morning, sprawled over the cushions and comfy under a blanket. As much as I didn't want to, I knew I had to get up, to give dad a piece of my mind. As I slowly rose from the couch, muscle after knotted muscle protested all over my legs and back, and I decided that movement could wait five more minutes. Then I noticed all my gear in a pile on the floor next to me, a note on top of the stack saying that dad had taken Hesh to see a doctor.

When they got back I was _**so**__ pissed_. It didn't help that he later told me that the drop point had been twenty-eight miles from the house. I was ready to rip him a new one, my own dad, but fortunately the logical side of my brain won out. He couldn't have known all that would happen. That we'd come back exhausted, injured, and dehydrated. Behind his eyes I saw that he was sorry, even if he would never say it out loud.

I didn't speak to him for a week afterwards. And it didn't keep him from pushing us harder and harder.

But it was how we bonded. As crazy as it sounds, we _wanted_ this. The challenges cemented us together. Hesh and I became tough, lean, and strong. No one would ever call me chubby again. We coordinated as a team, working as one, speaking without saying anything. Yeah, it was hard, and the training and challenges hurt like _hell_, but we embraced the pain. Our social lives suffered, but we didn't care.

Hesh and I would joke, "We don't have _friends!_" and when dad commented that we had each other, we would protest, "We're not _friends_. We're _brothers_."

Brothers. Far closer than two friends could ever be.

Every time we came out of the woods and trudged up to the house, Dad asked us what we learned. The answer was always the same:

_Guard each other. Cover your brother's back._

It's the most important lesson I've ever learned, and one I'll never forget.

* * *

Hesh should have known better than to read on his first day back in the field. He shouldn't have brought it with him, but it journal just fit so neatly into his cargo pocket. All it did was distract him from the task at hand. He had finally managed to pull himself halfway out of the emotional grave he was digging, only to find that the Ghosts' new AO wasn't going to be as welcoming as it usually was. Hesh could _always_ rely on a mission to distract him from whatever was on his mind, but as he lay silently under the canopy of trees, scanning the compound through his sniper scope, his thoughts wandered of their own free will. Quiet missions made everything go wrong in his head.

The pages that he'd read seemed to side-scroll across his vision, blocking out his view of the target area. He scrunched his eyes closed and blinked rapidly, clearing the words away. They still hovered at the corners, swarming and waiting to fill him with grief once more.

Why was Logan's journal so haunting?

A small, dark, and broken part of him just wanted to _forget_, to let go of all the thoughts and memories that were damaging him. Worse, to push away the little brother who had always followed him. Growing up, everywhere he went, he was never without his shadow. Logan loved him to the point where he would follow him through hell and back; he _had_, in fact. His presence was so constant that Hesh had begun to take him for granted. But then all at a second's notice, they were torn apart, and Hesh was left to remember all the times when he could have shown Logan the he loved _him_ too, could have shown him how _proud_ he was. Nothing big, just a pat on the back, or a small smile and a, "Good job" or a well-deserved, "Thanks."

_Thanks for standing by me. Thanks for having my back. Thanks for _saving_ my _life_._

He owed Logan so much, but he'd never actually _thanked_ him. He got to count, over and over, the times when he'd let those opportunities slip through his fingers. Now he might never get them back.

That small, dark, and broken part of him reared its head. He hated him_self_ for hating that Logan was a _perfect_ little brother. He didn't grow close to many, but the few whom he let into his inner circle, he loved purely, innocently, almost blindly; and Hesh could say without conceit that Logan saw him above anyone else. It was a fact of their relationship.

The demon in his head wanted to forget Logan entirely, because at least then he wouldn't _hurt_ anymore. He wouldn't feel all this guilt and sorrow. He wouldn't have to worry about what Rorke was doing to his brother. Wouldn't have to wonder if he'd ever see him again. After fifteen days, there had been no intel, not even a whisper of him from the Feds. For all the Ghosts knew he might be dead already.

No. He couldn't think like that. He would _not_ give up; he couldn't do that. The small, dark recess in his mind could never oust one command, one thought that had been with him all of his life:

_ Take care of your brother._

No power in the world could make him forget, because he was _so __**proud **_of his little brother. His little brother, who, he'd had to admit, he didn't want to join the Army because it meant he might not always be there to look out for him. Who he waited for, so they could be in the same flight at basic training. Who he'd argued with over MOS's for a _week_ before they agreed on one, just because they didn't want to be split up after BCT. Hesh had very few memories that _didn't_ involve Logan in some way, and the few that didn't have _him_, were memories of dad, the good _and_ the bad. He could never forget them, and he mentally slapped himself for ever thinking that he might betray either of them.

He hadn't been able to save dad. He hadn't even gotten the chance to say goodbye.

That would _not_ happen with Logan. He wouldn't let it. He could never leave him behind. If their roles were reversed, Logan would _never_ abandon _him_; there was no way in hell he would leave him out there, alone and scared.

"I've got a visual. FLIR shows three tangos in the target building. One of those is our HVT." At the voice of their drone operator, Hesh snapped his eyes out of their trance and focused on the target in his scope, peering at the drizzle-streaked thermal image.

"Roger that. Breach team is set." Kick spoke over the line and Hesh saw two figures, Kick and one of the new guys, at the edge of the compound, preparing to vault the chain-link fence. Their forms flickered every second or so, deformed by the feedback from their IR strobes. They had their work cut out for them if they were going to sneak in, take down the target, and sneak him out again.

"Check. Kick, Hicks, move to secure the package. Hesh, you're weapons free. Clear them a path." Merrick directed the operatives, and Hesh lined up his sights on a lone guard, patrolling the perimeter near the breaching team. He pulled the trigger, grateful to finally have a _real_ distraction from his own mind. The body dropped like a rock, clearing the sector for Kick and… what was his name, Hicks?

Hesh watched the two Green Berets slip through the compound like specters, only pausing to avoid or take down the guards. He popped off more rounds, keeping the area clear ahead of the team. They moved fast; Kick took point, creeping up to a corner of the central complex building. On the other side, three patrolmen clustered idly around a burn barrel, sharing a smoke.

"Kick, heads up. You got three tangos around that corner." He alerted the two to the group's presence and started to line up his rifle on the furthest away of the three. A softly muttered "Roger" was his only reply for a moment as the guys moved into position to eliminate the other two. Kick positioned himself at the corner and held up three fingers for Hesh to see.

"On three." To the side, he saw Kick point out to Hicks the man he was to kill. After seeing his acknowledgement, Hesh steadied his aim over the farthest guard.

"One."

_Inhale. _

"Two."

_Exhale._

"Three." Near-simultaneously, the three men acted.

_Near_.

Hesh pulled the trigger, earning a clean headshot. Kick sprang out and plunged his knife in the throat of his man. Hicks acted a moment too late; he didn't take down his target fast enough. He lunged with his knife, but the act was too slow, too late. The Fed was opening his mouth to sound an alarm; another second and it would be out.

Hesh watched it in horror. But he didn't watch helplessly. His hands moved as if under their own power. One slow-motion second and his barrel had already shifted an inch; his finger had already put pressure on the trigger. The second bullet flew true and the third guard dropped, not two seconds after the others.

The two ground ops stood absolutely still for a shocked second. Kick was the first to snap out of it, and he moved to breach.

"Shit, that was close." Hicks braced himself on the other side of the door, fuming.

"What the hell was _that_!?"  
"What the _hell_ was that?!"

Hesh and Hicks spoke at the same time, one yelling over the comm, and the other trying to maintain a semblance of stealth on the ground.

"I had him! You don't have to do my job _for_ me!"  
"That was the sloppiest takedown I've ever seen! You're lucky you have me on overwatch!"

"You think you ladies could scrap this out later? We're in the middle of something, here!" Kick hissed over his mike, trying to verbally smack sense into the two newbies.

"Roger that."  
"Yes, mom."

Hesh groaned inwardly. This mission couldn't be over soon enough.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: *Carefully peeks around corner* You all hate me don't you? That's okay. And I'll be the first to admit that this isn't up to par with my usual writing, but hey! At least I have wi-fi today. I really am sorry about the year-long wait, but hey... BCT and AIT are rough. Anyway, moral of the story: I'm not dead. Try to enjoy?  
**

* * *

The look that the medic gave him was the same as the last two times Hesh had been in: _What are you doing here? I literally _just_ fixed you._ He and Gillam were growing friends simply because of the frequency of his visits. So when the older man crossed his arms and scowled at him, Hesh just muttered, "Don't say a word." to Gillam's barely stifled, "I told you so."

"What were you doing _this_ time?" He asked, eyes automatically drawn to the small bloodstain on Hesh's shirt. The latter shook his head and sighed.

"It was a standard mission. We got back, and I saw the blood, same as last time."

Gillam shook his head and his face read _go figure_ as he examined the old wound, peeling the bloodied shirt away. He hadn't known Hesh for all that long, but he liked the kid, in spite of the open hostility he'd shown towards the PJ and the other new members of the Ghosts.

"Looks like you tore your stitches. _Again. _It's been almost three weeks, Hesh. If you weren't so hell-bent on killing yourself, it wouldn't hurt so bad." The pointed statement wasn't lost on Hesh, but when he gave no reaction, the medic sighed and went about his work – cleaning, stitching, and re-dressing the wound. The other man spaced out while Gillam finished, fixing the wall with his best thousand-yard stare. He looked exhausted. Hesh's once commanding presence had faded in the past three weeks, leaving a diminished shell that ghosted through Op Orders and slunk around the base. His eyes were sunken and dark, and his cheekbones had shadows growing under them, from either weight loss or lack of shaving. Gillam suspected both.

It wasn't that he wasn't sympathetic to him – he'd read the files; he could hardly imagine all that Hesh had been through in the past month – but he had little patience for men who threw themselves into combat with a self-destructive attitude. He pretended that the bullet wound was nothing, but Gillam knew the man was in crippling pain and that he should at least be on morphine pills to cope with it. Hesh – the stubborn son of a bitch that he was – refused meds because then he'd be considered "mentally unfit" for combat and would (_again_, according to him) be suspended from the team.

"Look, Hesh. I don't care about all this… self-abusive, masochistic stoicism, or whatever the hell it is that you're doing. You've got to take care of yourself, man!"

Hesh's jaw tightened, but other than the slight motion, Gillam got no reaction out of the man. Maybe he didn't know the kid well enough to be giving him a lecture, but they were a team now, and if _someone_ didn't talk to him, he _was_ going to destroy himself. He snapped his fingers in front of Hesh's nose, causing him to blink and squint at him.

"Hey. Dude, I get it. I really do." Hesh scoffed.

"_Sure_ you do—"

"We've _all_ lost people. And, sure, I know it's different for you because you have hope. You can convince yourself that your brother is still alive out there. And you miss him. I get that. But _this_… popping your stitches every other day… not sleeping... _starving_ yourself… it isn't going to help him." Hesh's eyes shifted down and away.

"You know about that, huh?" His voice sounded dry, like boots scraping over packed earth.

"Believe it or not, I was a psychology major before the war and all this shit happened. So yeah, I know what's going on in your head. _And_ I see you skipping out on chow every evening. Everyone knows." Hesh hummed noncommittally, as he'd been prone to do when he didn't want to broach a topic. Gillam made sure that his tone was _not_ gentle as he kept trying to dig into Hesh's head.

"Hey, look at me." Muddy green eyes dragged themselves to Gillam's face. "I'm not sure if you've noticed, but _everyone_ has lost someone to this war. Look at your teammates. They lost Poe, Greene, Johnson… your _dad_, _and_ your brother." The medic didn't care that his words may be sharp; someone needed to bring Hesh back to his right mind. "Do you see them shutting down? No. They keep going, because _that's what you do._ You do your _job_, because that's the only way anything will be done about the Rorke problem. They keep trucking on and on because they're stronger than you. Or maybe just smarter." Gillam paused because it was getting harder to keep the scorn out of his voice; that wasn't what Hesh needed right now.

"It's not like that." Hesh sounded like he was out of breath, and his eyes shifted to the wall again, like it was the most brilliant painting he had ever seen. Emotions mixed on his face, mostly guilt, pain, and anger.

"Oh? What's so special about _you_, Hesh? Why is your loss any greater than the rest of ours?" Gillam kept the hard edge in his tone. He knew the soldier's mindset and he knew that Hesh needed harsh words to get his head back in the game.

"It's _my_ _**fault**_."

"Fucking _hell_ it is—" Hesh cut off Gillam's new rant.

"Yeah, actually it _is_. He's my _brother._ I'm supposed to guard him, to have his back, and I… I couldn't. I wasn't strong enough, and now… now he's out _there—_" Hesh flung an arm wide to indicate God-knows-where. "—and _dying._ God, I can't-" His face had gone red, and Hesh had to stop himself from his voice cracking. Gillam calculated exactly what to say to snap Hesh out of this rut.

"So your solution is to starve and neglect yourself? Tell me how that's helping Logan."

"I… I don't…"

"That's right, it's fucking _not_. As much as you may hate it, the best thing you can do for him right now, is take care of yourself. Get back in fighting shape, _then_ go kill that son of a bitch Rorke, and save your brother."

Hesh finally met Gillam's eyes and the medic dared to hope that his message had gotten through the Walker's thick skull. Something was in his eyes, a depth that he hadn't seen before, but the pained expression was still there. Hesh nodded.

"You're right." Gillam took that to mean that his job was done. He clapped Hesh on the shoulder as a dismissal.

"I know. Now go get some chow. Logan'll kill me if he finds out I let you skip that many meals."

Hesh left the room with a soft smirk on his face.

In the next couple of days, Hesh realized that Gillam was right. The best thing he could do was get ready, and wait… but the problem was, waiting is the bane of his existence. He'd never been patient, not when he was younger and not now.

He'd stayed behind from the team's last mission. After they bagged the target, they'd rushed to their exfil point, and returned to Forward Operating Base Echo. As soon as they hit the ground they commandeered one of the tents, plan being to wring Rorke's location out of the worm's skinny little neck, and then go after the bastard ASAP, but the Fed, Ramirez, had a stronger will than they had guessed. He was a colonel in the Federation Army, one of Rorke's advisers, and was surprisingly dedicated to his "Manifesto". At 0900 on the third day, he still hadn't told them anything of worth, only spouting off brainwashed nonsense about "American rebirth" and "liberty restored". Hesh had only watched the interrogation for a few hours before going off on his own to roam the FOB.

During their stay, the Ghosts were tasked with security detail, which added to Hesh's sense of uselessness. Patrol the perimeter and sit in the guard posts. Fun. Hesh had paced around the base countless times during the past three days, just waiting and watching… and _waiting_. The patrol route was a perimeter around the FOB, and while the base layout was small and standard, he found the movement itself was therapeutic. Walking gave him a purpose, kept him alert, and took his mind away from the pressing matter: what to do about Rorke? He had reached the point where, even after he completed his shift for the day, he would continue to prowl the base, but felt aimless as he left his post. The patrol detail was to protect the base, but to Hesh's mind, there was nothing left to protect. His family was gone; he was aimless in a sea of emotions, with nothing left to do.

The only solace he found was in the loneliness. In a way, he felt like he deserved it – as if through his failure, he'd lost his right to interaction because, _God_ he _knew _that Logan was in pain and alone and terrified. Hesh couldn't pretend that he deserved any more than isolation (even if it was self-imposed). Even after Gillam's pep talk he ate and slept little. Somehow, he was still on guard. By no means was he combat ready, but he felt ready for _revenge_, and always ready for the moment when the informant would break, and the team would go after that bastard, Rorke. He knew that the ever-present tornado in his chest wouldn't dissipate until some primal _need_ in him was sated.

Hesh knew he could've talked to a senior team member, one of the original Ghosts. The squad didn't have a chaplain in its ranks, but the older soldiers could share their experience and advice. They could _help_, and he _knew _they _would_, but he was too afraid of his own stigma to seek them out. They already thought him weak… why else would they have suspended him from the team for so long? He was a liability, and while their loss of faith hadn't progressed to the point that they wouldn't trust him, he feared they were nearing that point.

So, in the three short days the Ghosts had occupied the FOB, he'd established his routine, the same, monotonous routine, every day. After his patrol duty, he'd walk to a good spot. Sit. Wait. Mostly he read the journal, and he _hoped_, his sincerest wish that the Fed would shatter into a million pieces and tell them all they wanted to know. They'd already wasted ten days doing _nothing_. The team hadn't even been tasked with harassing Fed forces in the area. Even though his heart burned to find Logan, Hesh thought he could find purpose again if he were hunting down the enemy, _any_ enemy. The Ghosts had conducted one raid, _one,_ off of the intel they'd gotten at the LOKI ground station. Command expected them to be content sitting around with their thumbs up their asses?

_No_. He'd made a promise, one he was determined to keep, but Hesh's chances of finding Logan soon dwindled with every passing minute.

This morning was July 23rd. Logan's birthday, and Hesh had a present to deliver. But instead of rescuing his brother like he'd promised, he was stuck in a corner of the FOB, reading about his _own_ birthday, six weeks ago, and the mission that set up their promotion to Stalker and turned their lives upside-down… _again._

* * *

_June 5, 2027_

"Hey, yo! It's the birthday boy!" Hesh entered the mess and I heard the shout-out as I walked in behind him. I saw SPC Davis stand to give Hesh a clap on the back. A few other Viking elements were around and they perked up at the sound of Davis' greeting. As Hesh entered, they shouted our platoon sound off, for no real reason. It sounded like the soldiers from _300_ just walked in.

I smirked at their antics. Our new platoon was a bunch of weirdos.

"Well, sergeant? How old are you now?" PFC Roper asked; he was generally a little more grounded than his superior.

"A hell of a lot older than you, kid. That's all you need to know." Hesh tousled the short eighteen year old's hair on his way to the chow line. This caused a chorus of dissent among our scattered squadmates. Cries of,

"Psh, yeah right!" and, "Aw, come on sarge!" echoed around.

"Tell us, Logan!" One of them tried to drag me into it.

"Aw, hell no." I snorted, shook my head, and lifted my arms defensively in an_ I'm-staying-out-of-this _type manner.

Hesh was twenty eight today, but he liked to act like he was so much older. It was part of what made him such a great leader. I'm not sure of exactly when it happened, but as he moved up the ranks, he started calling people _kid_ and _son._ He acted like a father to these guys. The average age of our squad now was much lower than our old team. When Hesh took charge, he started acting like dad... they're scarily similar sometimes.

We went through the chow line, got our breakfast and moved off to one of the tables. It's kind of odd, even in a near apocalyptic situation, you can still find time to worry if your brother will like what you got him for his birthday. It was hard to track down, but the few connections I've made in the time we've been stationed at the Wall paid off. I found _beer_.

No, you don't understand. A _real _six-pack of beer. None of this backyard brew shit that doesn't froth and tastes like piss, no this is _real _Sam Adams Summer Ale, just like dad used to drink. He would buy cases and cases of it when it was in season and keep it around to drink whenever he was on leave. He used to let us have one or two on an off day when he was feeling rebellious; the stuff is _delicious_. I had set it on Hesh's bunk as we left to go on patrol. He wouldn't find it until Monday, after we rotated off.

After finishing up with chow we ditched our plates and went to get our assignments from our platoon leader. Patrol, as usual. Our platoon is in charge of guard duty on the Wall. We normally go by squads in forty eight hour rotations, on and off. Squad 2-1 lost a few men recently, though, so I volunteered to fill in. Typically, soldiers learn straight away in Basic to _never_ volunteer for _anything_… except I always volunteer. Hesh says I'm too nice for my own good. He's probably right.

Back to day one. I had patrolled for the first twenty four of the previous rotation, and was still exhausted as we loaded into transports. We hooked up with Riley and the rest of our platoon at the gate and deployed along the drop-off route, taking the farthest posting.

As usual, it was pretty quiet as we guarded our strip of wall. Riley rustled up a few rabbits, but that was the only other life we saw. It's strangely idyllic, outside the wall. The area is cracked and torn up from countless earthquakes, and abandoned buildings and cars are strewn about like some giant's discarded playthings, but somehow it's eerily peaceful. Out there we know that it's _our_ turf, our hard-won turf, and when it's just you, your brother, and your dog, you just feel at ease. Sure, it's a war zone, but the chaos and ruin are oddly calming.

We patrolled until well after dark, until we heard that Davis and Roper were covering our route. We camped out in an old convenience store to rest for a few hours until our next shift came. I took first watch, and rotated out with Hesh after half the night had passed. I immediately fell into a deep, restful sleep.

_June 6, 2027_

Shit hit the fan when I woke to the quiet crackle of a speaker in my ear.

"Viking Six, you there? Hesh? Logan?"

"Uh, copy. Yeah, we're here. Go ahead." Hesh's drowsy morning-voice replied. I recognized the person on the other end side of the radio as PFC Roper.

"Reports are coming in. Dallas got overrun last night. Command wants another sweep of the Wall ASAP."

_Fuck._

"Oh shit. Any survivors?"

"Negative." Riley's panting was the only thing that filled the air as I woke myself up fully, and smiled at the sight. Hesh was bouncing a tennis ball between the floor and the wall so that it came back to him after each throw. Riley pounced towards it every time the ball left his hand, but he was never fast enough to catch it. It was an adorable sight: a trained and ruthless canine unit playing ball with his handler.

"Sorry I didn't wake you. Thought you could use the sleep. You heard the update?" I nodded as he threw the ball up against the wall one more time. It bounced to the floor, forgotten, when we heard a _crash_ from somewhere in the building. Riley pointed and growled menacingly.

"Shh, quiet boy." Hesh moved up next to the dog, eyes trained towards the doorway where the sound came from. I sighed inwardly, _Back to work again._

"Grab your gear. Let's move." There was a sense of urgency to his tone; two seconds later I was ready to roll shouldering my ruck and my weapons. We moved towards the exit we had come in by.

"Bravo team, are you near our position?" Hesh radioed Davis and Roper.

"Negative. We're outside. You boys got something?" We were struggling to keep up with Riley as he tore through the building, doubtless in search of the strange scent that had cause the noise.

"Riley does. We're checking it out."

"Roger, we'll secure the exit. Two-One out." They cut off the transmission as we came to a large room, like a theater: huge and hard to clear. There was a pile of rubble in the center leading to a second story.

"Cover me." I set near the entrance and keep a lookout as he moved in and up the rubble heap. After giving it a few moments, he beckoned to both me and Riley.

"It's clear, follow." I snorted under my breath, and tried not to feel put out by being ordered like our four legged friend; Riley's lack of vocabulary meant I often got treated like the dog, too. We moved up and into the adjacent hallway and heard the noise again.

"That's close." Down another staircase, up a hallway, and through a set of doors we found the source of the noise. Two deer – huge six pointers too, would've made a good meal – turned and fled as soon as we entered the room. Riley rushed after them, but was held back by a hasty, "Riley, heel!"

"Guess Riley was getting hungry." We both relaxed a little, relieved that the disturbance was nothing more than the local nightlife.

"Come on boy, let's head back and get you some real food." With that, Hesh took point and led the way back towards the wall to rally with Bravo team. The radio cackled to life again,

"Two-Two, Sitrep?"

"Just some wildlife. We're good."

"Check. We're moving up to RP Silver, copy?"

"Good copy. We'll join you; on our way out."

"Rog'." Just then we came out of the shadow of the lopsided buildings and into the hundred meter clearing that extended past the wall. We could see Two-One waiting for us. Riley entertained himself by dog-equivalent-of-parkour-ing across flipped cars and collapsed rooftops, and we moved to rally with the others.

"Yo!" Hesh greeted.

_Very professional, bro. Good job._

"Sergeant." Roper and I pulled security while they talked. Sometimes I forget that he's in charge around here (_most_ of the time).

"Your area secure?"

"Just about. Need to sweep this side of the Wall, then we're good."

"Rog'. We'll take the left side, should go quick. Regroup at the gas station."

"You got it, sarge." We split off into teams again, taking our respective sides of the huge sinkhole in the city. We stacked on a building and got Riley to start searching as we moved. It wasn't long until we were hearing things again, voices this time.

"You hear that? Someone's over there." Just through the door we spotted three tangos, on a lower terrace, through a broken wall. We posted out of sight, preparing to engage; these were _not_ U.S. forces. On a countdown of _three, two, one_, Hesh signaled Riley, and, sure enough, the man screaming expletives (that I will not record) had a thick Hispanic accent. As he turned, the Federation crest was fully displayed on his shoulder patch. The dog ripped his throat out as Hesh and Logan quickly took out the other two enemies. With them down, the area was clear and we moved up, taking a shortcut from our usual rout in order to regroup with the others.

"Fed recon again?" I crouched down and pointed to the dead Fed's unit patch: a skull encircled by twelve stars.

"Shit, that's five this month already." He turned on his comm.

"Two-One, we just engaged another Federation recon team. Meet us at Overwatch. We need to regroup _now_."

"Check. On our way." We rallied at RP Overwatch and caught sight of another group of tangos moving in and around the gas station. After a moment we saw that they had hostages – civilians – and were herding them all into a huddled circle.

"Holy shit, what are they doing?" SPC Davis' jaw dropped when the _crack_ of enemy rifles reached our ears. Bodies slumped to the ground as the Feds gunned down the innocents.

"They're executing civvies. Move in, move in!" We sprang into action, moving as a unit and eliminating the enemy.

We were too late. Scenes like this always chilled my blood. Yeah, I was a soldier, and I had seen (and done) horrible things – so much death and pain – but there was absolutely _no_ reason to take life unnecessarily. These civilians hadn't done anything save scavenge outside the wall, and they had died for nothing. Because we weren't fast enough.

I almost lost my stomach before a panicked voice crackled in my ear,

"All available units, we have Federation contact at the wall! We need backup now! Repeat, we are under attack!"

I didn't recognize the voice, but the cry for help brought me back to reality. Hesh responded quickly,

"We read you loud and clear! Pop smoke, we're coming to you." The voice sounded relieved when we heard it again.

"Roger that! Popping green smoke on our position." Our squad slipped through a culvert near the barricade just outside the wall. Joining the fight, we realized that the Fed presence was much stronger than we'd first thought. Hostile birds hovered over the area, dropping off troops; most never made it down the ropes thanks to my squad.

"Push to the wall!" Hesh's voice sounded the order, and push we did. The firefight was shorter than it should have been, considering that the enemy reinforcements consisted of a whole platoon and two attack choppers, but before I knew it my squad was standing at the foot of the wall alongside PFC Ramsay and his team, and the enemy was eliminated.

Two minutes later we had secured transport and were rolling through the gates on our way back to Fort Santa Monica. It always astonishes me, the number of greetings we get as we roll through the base. Riley, who was hanging out in the top hatch of our transport, ears flapping and tongue wagging in the wind, was hailed by nearly every group of soldiers we passed, like some sort of base mascot. Before long we reached our HQ building and dismounted.

"Come on. Let's go find the old man." I released Riley to the K9 handlers as Hesh went ahead to report to our commander… our dad. We strode into the TOC and spotted him by a wall of monitors, no doubt displaying the latest intel from Dallas. His face creased in worry and agitation as he watched the reports scroll by.

"Dad!" Hesh's yelled across the room, heedless of the other enlisted working there. Dad turned and his face visibly softened when he saw us.

"I heard about the attack. You boys okay?" His concern was met with our confident smirks.

"Always." A couple of Feds were nothing we couldn't handle. Seemingly satisfied, Dad beckoned and turned to the stairwell.

"Walk with me." As soon as we reached the relative security of the stairwell we could speak more freely.

"Dad they were executing civilians…" Hesh began.

"I know. Their recon teams round up stragglers, drifters, hoping to find a way into the city. It's how they took Dallas overnight." I still wanted to know how that had happened. The news was unsettling at the least. Dallas was one of our greatest strongholds left in the South.

"How can we help then?" I prompted. I was sure Dad had a plan, but he kept walking, into the upstairs office, seeming to ignore my question.

"Dad?"

"Listen. You boys… you're the all I have left in this world." Hesh immediately sprang into 'reassuring-responsible-son' mode, his eyes softening with his voice.

"Dad, listen—" Dad cut him off before he could get too far.

"But you're also the only ones I can _trust_." That changed things.

"Hey, whatever it is, Hesh and I are ready." Dad looked at me, and something changed in his face. For a second, it seemed like he saw us, but he didn't see _us. _I think he was realizing for the first time that we weren't kids anymore.

"You taught us everything we know, we _ought_ to be ready." Hesh nodded and agreed. We had been trying to get Dad to let us go on solo ops for months, but he held on to us, insisting on "just one more test". I was prepared for his classic rebuttal, _"I may have taught you everything _you_ know, but not everything _I _know."_ but this time he just sighed, and I dared to hope.

"You two are going to No Man's Land." I don't know how I was _supposed _to react, but Hesh about summed it up,

"Wait, for _real_?" His excitement was unconcealable. It was unbelievable. He had never let us go anywhere _half_ as dangerous before. That was all for the specialty units.

Dad turned away and leaned against the porch railing, obviously reluctant to give us the mission. His voice sounded tight when he spoke.

"We've been on the defensive for far too long. So I'm sending you outside the wall." The plan was to increase our offensive resources. This wasn't Dad's choice, we were being officially re-tasked by higher. That explained why Dad was so uncomfortable. Even though we wanted it, he wouldn't send us out there unless he _had_ to.

"The mission starts tomorrow. You'll link up with a recon team, gather any intel you can on the enemy, and get your asses _back here._" He pointed down at the floorboards for emphasis; his way of saying, _"I want to see you _righthere_ in two days or you'll be stuck on staff duty for the rest of your careers!"_

"So where in No Man's Land are we going?" I was hoping that the answer would be far to the south, where we could do some real damage to the Fed.

"Somewhere you know better than anyone. You're going home." Hesh and I exchanged a glance. _Home?_ The Fed is that far north? There's nothing left to San Diego but a crater, a hole in the ground.

Dad didn't explain anything else about the briefing, so after a minute of relaxing in silence Hesh and I moved off to secure our gear and catch some R&amp;R.

* * *

"I've got a bone to pick with you."

Hesh shut the journal with a sharp _snap_ at the sudden interruption and hastily cleared his head from his memories. Looking up, he wasn't surprised to see Hicks standing over him. He rose to his feet, aggravated.

"Is that how you address an officer? I can't hear you unless you're standing at attention, _sergeant_." Hesh wasn't surprised at the lack of discipline from his team member, and though he wasn't fooling himself, he was disappointed in Hicks' performance. Yes, the Ghosts only really utilized the rank system when in the field, but Hesh was still a junior officer, and that rank requires a degree of respect from those under his command.

Hicks brought his feet together, his arms to his sides, and grit his teeth, readdressing his superior.

"May I speak with you, _sir_?" The last bit was spat, but Hesh was gratified.

"Of course, relax." He didn't _really_ want to hear what Hicks had to say, but he wasn't going to be "that guy" either; chain of command was no excuse to be an asshole. Hicks' posture fell back to its naturally horrendous position (colloquially known as 'Parade Fuckit') the moment he said 'relax', and the NCO began to voice his grievance.

"I can't help but feel that you have a lack of confidence in my abilities…"

_No shit._ Hesh tilted his head to indicate a nonverbal _"And?"_

"…and I feel that it's unfair for you to judge my skills so harshly, especially when you aren't holding yourself to the same standard. _Sir._" Hicks finished, spitting words like they left a bad aftertaste. Hesh pondered the statement for a moment. While it was _true_, he really didn't want to get in a discussion on the issue.

Keegan's interruption was very welcome. He moved with purpose out of their commandeered TOC and walked up to the two, cutting straight to the chase.

"Both of you gear up." A million questions immediately sprang up in Hesh's head. _What do we know? What's the target? Is it Rorke? Logan? Where are we going?_ Before he could voice these, Keegan answered them all,

"We found him."


	12. Chapter 12

**AN:** **I'm back again... don't hate me? :)**

* * *

The problem wasn't the pain. Not really. It was that he was _alone_ at the bottom of that hellhole, and he didn't know how to deal with that. He'd never been truly, bone-achingly alone before. It was an alien, uncharted territory. Unnatural. His brain ran away with his thoughts, continually sending him reeling, and with drugs pumping through his system, he was in full panic mode. He was scared, there was no hiding it now: he shook against the wall of the pit, face set in a constant grimace because of the throbbing red welts and cuts that crossed his body. It _hurt_.

He wanted Hesh there. He _needed_ him. Needed his help.

But then again, he didn't. He didn't want Hesh to be in that hole with him, because that would mean that he had been captured too, and that they were _both_ afraid, tortured, beyond hope. What little hope was left, he lost more of every day. The tallies on his arm had crawled up his shoulder and started to migrate across his back. He couldn't see them all to count them, but he'd been gone a long time. Too long.

He _needed_ Hesh. Logan had always wondered how they drew strength from just being together. Somehow, there's a gentle, quiet comfort that comes with having someone by your side. Even on a lazy day on the lawn, having someone _with_ you, even in silence, is infinitely better than sitting out alone. You feel at ease, safe in the knowledge that there is someone who will watch over you, who won't let anything happen if you just want to relax for a while. It's the simple feeling of being _not alone,_ and it's the greatest thing in the world. Words aren't needed. You've trained with them, bled with them, faced death by their side. More importantly, you've _lived_ with them. All you have to do is _be_ _together_ and that is enough.

He needed his brother's strength, but at the same time he wanted nothing to do with it, because Hesh would only be trying to take his place. Logan wanted the pain to go away, but not if it meant someone else was taking it from him. He didn't want that at all.

He thought if he just _saw_ his brother's easy smile – _felt_ his calming presence – that he could make it through to tomorrow. And the next day. And the next day.

Fear had clawed away every piece of his armor but this one: the one thought that helped him remember. Whenever the whip cracked across his back, or that awful poison spilled down his throat, or the knife parted his skin, he kept silent. They, no, _he_ wanted him to betray the others, but he refused to give them up, if only to protect a baseless hope to see his family again. A hope that was only a fading ember, only faintly flickering as he let it die.

A shadow fell over the pit and he looked up in fear. He couldn't hear anything, but what he _saw_ was enough. Looking up, Rorke's cronies stood over him, seized him by the arms, and hauled him up and out, sending him sprawling at the edge of the hole, where Rorke and several other guards were waiting. The Devil grabbed his arm and began dragging him away, possessed with a strange sense of urgency. Logan thrashed and panicked.

_No! Not there, it's not time yet! _He wasn't moving towards the buildings, however. Instead he slid across the ground towards a waiting convoy of supply trucks. He was confused; why was _he_ in such a hurry this time? And where were they going?

"Hey junior, you know what today is?"

_I couldn't care less, dipshit_. It was already more than he could do to keep silent against the flames in his back and stomach, so Logan didn't retort, instead clamping his mouth shut. Then he heard it. Rotor wash and the frenzied scurrying of soldiers trying to move. It was like they were… evacuating?

For the hundredth time, he cursed his weakness, wishing for all the world that he had the strength to fight. This would've been the perfect time to try and escape. Rorke ignored the frenetic mood of his militia,

"Well, I must be doing _something_ right, if you can't remember your own _birthday_."

His birthday… of course. That meant that this was his… nineteenth day in hell? He wanted nothing more than for Hesh to appear, however improbable that was. Maybe he could run out of the treeline right then and drop the bastard. A few moments later, they'd reached the convoy where the trucks were idling, waiting to be loaded with men and cargo.

"I figured that to celebrate, we'd go on a little trip."

_Don't make it sound like we're going to the fucking zoo! _Rorke lifted him, and Logan collapsed unceremoniously onto his back in the truck bed more terrified than he would ever admit. A dizzied moment from his rush of endorphins and a prick in his neck later, he was consumed by the dark again.

* * *

The silence of the jungle set into Hesh's bones as he ghosted through the undergrowth. The eerie morning stillness was too quiet, too disturbing. He must have been nearing the objective because the stillness was absolute. No animals stirred the brush, no insects buzzed in the air, and even the _sun_ was cloaked behind layers of clouds.

He paused and listened for any indicators of an enemy presence before quietly murmuring into his comm link,

"This is Stalker 1-1 Alpha. We have reached checkpoint Juliet, how copy, over?"

"Good copy Alpha, proceed to checkpoint Kilo and wait for link-up with Bravo." Neptune, at command, replied.

"Roger that. Over and out."

Hesh rose to his feet to move out again when he heard an echoing _SNAP_ from behind him.

_Shit_. He'd forgotten about the new guy. Since his last "encounter" with Hicks, Merrick had moved him to Bravo team, refusing to let them work together.

Fine by him.

Seay had made the noise in the brush behind him, and the recruit glanced around in a sharply sheepish way under Hesh's steely glare. Supposedly, the kid was AFSOC, but Hesh had never even known that such a thing existed until a week ago. He'd always thought that the "Chair" Force's special operations consisted of staging a raid to the neighboring office in order to "tactically acquire" all of their staplers.

He was being proven wrong, however, as the young Airman seemed quite skilled so far.

He reached his observation point on schedule and pulled up the feed from the Predator they'd launched. The Fed compound was cleverly concealed in the jungle, but now that he knew where it was and what to look for, he counted five buildings clustered under the thick canopy.

Since Hesh and Seay had deployed early, the rest of Stalker was riding in with a convoy of Rangers for a full scale assault. At least higher was finally starting to comprehend the threat that Rorke posed. Of course, Merrick hadn't told command that the Ghosts planned to ditch the Army grunts as soon as the convoy stopped.

There was no movement on the feed, save for the few sentries posted at the cardinal points of the fort. This could be either good or bad: the Feds were either completely unaware of the soldiers on their doorstep, or they were forcing a state of calm on their troops while on high alert for their enemy.

Hesh listened to the comm updates and heard as the convoy stopped and Stalker dismounted, breaking away from the main force. The Rangers didn't know it, but they were batting clean-up today.

Twelve minutes later, they showed up on Hesh's thermal scope, approaching the gate. He had a moment of jealousy as they concealed themselves, waiting for him to start the assault. Merrick told him in their mission brief that he would not be entering the compound until Rorke was secure. Hesh agreed for only one reason: where he found Rorke, he would find Logan, and as much as he hated that demon's guts only one of those two _needed_ him right now.

More importantly, he couldn't risk failing again. If asked, he wouldn't admit it, but the thought of facing Rorke sent chills straight from his stomach to his toes. He couldn't trust himself not to freeze up next time they met.

"I've got two by the gate." Merrick reported from the seven o'clock.

"Copy." He clicked his mic off. "Seay, you have eyes?" Hesh swiveled his scope to acquire the two patrolmen.

"Roger. I've got right. On your mark."

"Three. Two. One." Both Feds dropped perfectly. "Merrick, you're clear." Hesh dropped a few more tangos, clearing the way as the other Ghosts moved into the compound. The buildings were only guarded by a skeleton crew and fell quickly, both to the infiltration squad and the snipers' bullets. In just a few minutes, the breaching team was stacked up on the first building, exterior clear.

"Be careful in there. This smells like a trap." Hesh spoke quietly over the comm, voicing his gut feeling.

"Copy that. Stay frosty fellas." Keegan acknowledged and nodded to Kick. The team breached while the others pulled rear security, signaling Hesh and Seay's move to the other side of the compound. They skirted wide, dropping only a few stragglers from the rear of the base. As they moved they listened in on the commentary from the breaching crew.

"Room clear!"  
"Keep those corners tight!"  
"Watch that door!"

It sounded like controlled chaos. They moved through the buildings like quicksilver until the comms suddenly went silent. After thirty seconds there was still no traffic, so Hesh checked in.

"Kick, status?" The sapper replied quickly and quietly.

"Here boss. We're good." Hesh frowned.

"Then what's the problem?" He heard the tension in Kick's voice and immediately bristled for bad news.

"There's no one here. This place was deserted maybe two hours ago." He paused for a moment, and the words settled into Hesh's stomach like lead weights. The base was abandoned. Rorke knew they were coming, and he'd left. Taking Logan with him.

"You need to come inside. Leave Seay on overwatch. Fifth building, room 009. They're numbered."

_What?_ He looked to Seay and the other man nodded, saying that he'd heard, then Hesh picked up and moved to join the rest of the team. Inside the building he found a stairwell to the basement. Sounding off with the passwords, Keegan beckoned him to one of the doorways. His demeanor was all off, and Hesh found himself growing more and more anxious. This was supposed to be the day he brought his brother home. He felt like punching a wall, what else had gone wrong?

The inside of the room was tiny, giving it a cell-like appearance, though there was no bunk or latrine. The low ceiling and lack of windows gave Hesh claustrophobia just standing there. A single chair sat in the center of the room, placed over a drain, with brown, caked stains on the floor all around it. A table, wiped surgically clean stood next to it. The air smelled like iron.

Hesh turned away before he got sick. Logan… or some poor bastard… was _here_. Suffering in _this room_. Only_ two hours ago._ He wanted to puke. He'd failed him again, and it was unacceptable. He stepped into the hall to clear his head, but he could still smell all the fear and the lost hope rolling out of the room in waves.

_How was he too late __again__?_ He couldn't think about this here; he couldn't afford to have a breakdown on mission. Gillam was fiddling with something across the hall, and he looked at it curiously, asking what it was. The PJ swallowed hard and replied,

"It's a camera. The display isn't working, but it has an SD card so I'm hoping we can get some intel from it. The only thing is…" the recruit trailed off.

"What?" Hesh asked impatiently.

"We found it in that chair. In there." He gestured back through the doorway at the rusty folding chair. "It's like he wanted us to find this."

Hesh took the camera and put it away in his assault pack.

_I'm sure he did_.

* * *

Neptune, Merrick, Hesh, and Keegan met up in their makeshift TOC after the team returned to base. Hesh carried the digital camera. The simple fact that it had been left behind, when every other hard drive and computer bank in the complex was wiped clean was enough to make Merrick certain there was some kind of message on the SD card.

Hesh pulled the data chip and plugged it into one of the laptops. There were a half dozen files. An easy decryption later, Hesh pulled up some photos and a video. Rorke's scarred face filled the screen as it played.

_"Hey there, Walker boy!" Rorke mockingly smiled at the camera and backed away, revealing a figure slumped in the chair behind him, not even tied up._

_ "Why don't you say 'Hi' to your little bro?" He pulled the man's head back revealing Logan, caked with blood and mud. A scrape across his scalp was old, the blood long since turned brown. He was dazed, likely not even aware of what was going on. Rorke turned, picking up a syringe from the table, holding it at eye level._

_ "Don't expect much of an answer. He's not exactly _here_ right now. Sent him on a little trip." The needle fell to the table and Logan flinched at the sudden noise, still looking at a point behind the camera, eyes large and glassy. Suddenly, Rorke began laughing, a horrible, rolling thunderous noise. Behind him, Logan began to shiver. The traitor moved behind him, and the Ghost stopped shaking, gripping the chair so hard he could've bent the metal._

_ "I forgot why I made this…" He must've been talking about the video. Logan's eyes rolled and dark crimson began to drip down the chair leg._

_ "He will be mine." Logan jerked and Rorke moved back to the table, revealing a bloody Ka-bar in his hand. He smiled._

_ "And I will make him kill you all."_

Abruptly, the video stopped, leaving the team huddled around the black computer screen. Before anyone could stop him, Hesh shot up and rushed out the door, leaving hot and angry curses in his wake.


	13. Chapter 13

**AN: Another short one. (I don't count the material at the bottom, that's just cheating) Hopefully going to start wrapping this up soon. :)**

* * *

_The two brothers were alone in their bay for not even three seconds before Hesh grabbed Logan and flung him into the wall, pressing him roughly against it._

"_What the _hell_ is wrong with you?!" He roared into Logan's face, voice bleeding with rage and agony. When Logan opened his mouth to argue, he got a face full of knuckles. Hesh had reared back and was hitting him again._

"_The gun was in your fucking _hand_, Logan!"_

Oh. That's what he's mad about. _Logan managed to shove his brother away, and found himself yelling with equal volume,_

"_Fuck off! You _saw_ what happened, it was all Rorke!" Hesh gave a derisive snort and shoved him against the wall again, this time, his voice laced with sarcasm and unbridled rage._

"_Oh, _right. _And when Rorke untied you and handed you the gun? That was _all_ him, too?" There was so much pain and betrayal in Hesh's eyes that it hurt Logan to see, but there was nothing he could do about it._

"_What the hell—"_

"_He said 'shoot' and you didn't even _hesitate_!" Logan moved to break the hold as his whole right side felt like it was on fire from his wound, but before he realized it he was thrown to his back and pinned under Hesh's onslaught of fists. Logan struggled to be heard over his cursing._

"_Hesh, were you even there?! _Rorke_ killed dad! For Christ's sake, he shot me too!" But in the moment, the throbbing heat in his arm washed away and he couldn't tell if he'd been shot at all. _

_Hesh actually laughed in his face, though it was a clipped bark, devoid of any actual humor. Logan tried to trip him as he rose and stepped back, but found, to his horror, that he was stuck in place. Next he wondered why their fight hadn't drawn any attention from the ship's crew._

"_All I know is, _you_ pulled a trigger, and _my_ dad died." Hesh pulled a pistol from a hip holster Logan hadn't noticed before, flicked open the cylinder and loaded one round._

_It was Rorke's revolver._

"_How did you—"_

"_Shut up." The chamber closed with a neat _snick_. Hesh stared down at him, any expression replaced with disgust. Logan felt fear again, seeping into his body, and making him all the more frozen to the floor._

"_Hesh what are you doing?"_

"_I'm sick of this. I'm sick of _you_. I'm tired of having to cover you, while you run around, trying to play hero." While he spoke, Hesh's gun arm aimed slowly up the length of Logan's body until it stopped just above his heart. Claws of terror ripped at him, telling him to fight, run, or _do anything_._

"_Now I see what you are: a liar, and a filthy traitor."_

"_Hesh, no! You don't have to do this. Just talk to me!" The shake in Logan's voice spread through his whole body as he fought for a way out. He had never felt more helpless._

"_No! _You_ killed my dad; you've probably been feeding _him _intel this whole time!"_

"_That's a lie!"_

"_You're the liar!" Hesh cocked back the hammer on the revolver, and his voice dropped to a menacing whisper. "And you deserve everything he does to you."_

"_David, _please!_ Don't do this!" Logan begged, eyes wide and horrified. His brother's face was a remorseless mask. Panic pounded through his heart and head. He couldn't move._

"_Good riddance."_

"_Brother _NO!"

_Hesh pulled the trigger._

He woke in a haze and barely remembered that Hesh _hadn't _beat him up (not a lot, at least) and that he'd _never_ tried to kill him.

The nightmare fresh in his mind, he glanced around blearily and saw Hesh sitting in front of him. He panicked for a moment, thinking he had been captured too, but focused and saw him twirling a knife between his hands, elbows on knees.

_It's not him_, he thought to himself adamantly, willing his mind to believe it. The man stood and stalked around him slowly. He knew, on a subconscious level, that it wasn't Hesh, and there was no way he _could _be Hesh. He also knew that every time he surfaced from a drugged stupor, it was harder and harder to ignore the reality being shoved down his throat: He was alone, he was dying, and it was all Hesh's fault.

_No… that's not right._ He tried to block the man out, but he was a very convincing copy of his brother. The way he prowled, larger-than-life in the small room, was all so characteristically _Hesh_. After a few days of toying with him, it was becoming impossible for his soupy brain to tell the difference between his brother and torturer.

Instead, he tried to focus on what he could be sure was real. His hands were tied behind him, and to the metal chair he sat in. The walls and floor were bare concrete. He was still in the same room, as far as he could tell… yes, there was the same rust stain running down from the bars across the window.

He shivered in the damp cold of the basement, made worse by his ragged uniform, lack of boots, and fevered sweats from the frequent injections.

What he _thought_ he knew, was… well there was a lot he thought he knew. He thought he was a soldier, but he didn't feel like one. He thought he'd been captured, but this "enemy" looked just like his family. He thought his brother was going to save him, take him away from this hell, but he was the one torturing him, day by day.

_This can't be real_.

A time later "Hesh" got up and walked towards him, and he recoiled deep into his mind, trying not to feel.

* * *

How long had it been since his last 'visit'? In a way, the room was worse than the pit had been. He was constantly surrounded by smooth, cold concrete, and the light in the center of the ceiling never switched off. The plainness, and _sameness_ of every hour made it impossible to keep track of time; they'd stopped using him as a human calendar. And it was _cold._

So he waited, in the bland semi-darkness. He waited for Hesh to return, for the pain to start again (though it never truly stopped; the bones in his arm ache horribly as they try to graft themselves together, and he is beginning to feel the same sensation in his ribs where he hadn't noticed it before)

_Maybe that's why he's leaving me alone. He wants me to heal so he can break me again._ The thought sent shivers down his already quaking spine. They never showed kindness unless it was the cruelest thing they could do; letting him heal before starting the torture again would let him inflict _much _more pain, barring killing him.

_That's exactly how he wants it._

So he was thrown when it started again. It was the smallest thing in the world, but so cruel and twisted that it made him want to scream all the same. Rorke walked in one day (or night), as casual as could be, eating off of a banana in one hand, and holding a bunch of them in the other. He was slouched against the wall, and, while rested, he barely registered Rorke's presence. He was weak from days, going on weeks, of no food and too many drugs. His arm was still broken, and hurt terribly when he moved it: the unset bone was fusing at an awkward angle while it mended, making any movement torturous.

So when Rorke sidled into the room and slid down the wall to sit next to him, he didn't even have the strength or desire to try and get away; he just withered under the hostile aura from beside him.

It only took the smallest thing, the tiniest gesture to begin his unraveling. After weeks of filling the role of tormentor, Rorke had the _gall_ to think that he could slip in like they were old friends and share a snack with him, his starving prisoner.

_But it hasn't been him. It was Hesh… _and he wasn't exactly 'sharing'. He nonchalantly peeled another banana, and took one bite off the top. Then he stretched out his arm gave him his first order,

"Eat it."

As hungry as he was, as much as every cell of his body _ached_ for the calories in it, he refused, simply because he'd been _told_ to eat it. If it had been any other way, he would have taken the food in a heartbeat, but because he'd been _ordered_ to eat it, he wouldn't. He _couldn't_ obey him.

"There's no point to it anymore, junior. They've forgotten about you."

_Why are you still fighting? What's there left to fight for?_ He never knew he had so much traitor in him. _There's no point anymore._ Slowly, he reached for the still waiting food.

_There's no point anymore._

_They left you._

* * *

Codebreaking never took this long, did it? It had been four days since the team found Rorke's old complex and taken the camera, and the pictures had haunted Hesh ever since.

Logan really was _dying,_ and there was nothing he could do about it.

The Ghosts kept occupied, running sorties into No Man's Land to disrupt Fed operations, but besides that and capturing the occasional convoy, there was nothing for them to do, but sit around at the FOB, mostly in his room, waiting on the eggheads. Hesh worked to keep his skills sharp, and in the evenings, kept reading.

_**June 27, 2027**_

Dad has had some good ideas, and some really bad ones.

I _really_ think this is one of the bad ones.

"This destroyer is slam-packed with advanced weaponry, including experimental anti-air tracking systems."

"No chance at an air assault then," Hesh chimed in.

"No, but it _is_ vulnerable," Dad pulled up a basic schematic of the exterior of the ship. He turned the laptop so we could see, and I furrowed my eyebrows, growing more incredulous by the second. About sixty feet under, near the aft of the ship were two small weaknesses, just waiting to be exploited.

"There are two small thermal exhaust ports, unarmored. A well placed missile can sink the whole thing, but our boats can't get close. Keegan, Logan, I'm tasking you with this." My eyebrows shot up even further. "Clear us a way to that factory."

I nodded, ill at ease with the whole idea, but an order was an order.

"Roger that. We'll add one more ship to the graveyard." Keegan gave his affirmative, and dad nodded.

"The sub's moving into position, you'll deploy in thirty. Dismissed." On that happy note, we dispersed. Hesh walked with me back to the small cell we shared. After I stepped inside I asked him,

"Am I the only one who has a bad feeling about this?" I locked his green eyes with mine even as I reached into the footlocker to pull out my wetsuit. There I saw a flicker of doubt, for just one second, before he chuckled, and asked,

"Why, because this feels like a bad reenactment of _Episode IV?" _He chuckled, then must've seen the look on my face."Are you nervous? Come on, you've been to dive school. It'll be fine."

"I don't know Hesh. You'd think he'd task Merrick with it, or something. Being a Navy SEAL and all." I sighed. "Maybe it's just my nerves talking." I started gearing up, pulling on the water combat rig. Hesh scoffed.

"_I_ know what it is." I glanced sidelong at him and saw a sly grin on his face.

_Crap, what is it now?_ I groaned internally. I could easily guess what he was about to say.

"You're going on a mission without _me._" I just glared at him from the corner of my eye, but stayed silent. "Aw, is baby brother scared?" He teased.

"Shaddup, you." I threw a mock punch, which he easily caught and pulled me into a headlock. I threw him off, but not before he gave me a noogie. Squaring off, I saw a smile plastered across his face. That exact, reassuring, calm smile that I needed.

"It'll be fine. You get to use one of those fancy Proteus missiles. It'll be a swim in the park!" He clapped me on the shoulder and pushed me out the door now that I had my gear together.

Twenty minutes later, Keegan and I were descending down the side of a reef, packing a couple of hours of air, and armed with underwater rifles. He descended into a narrow crevasse in the ocean floor, and I followed.

I still couldn't believe we were actually doing this. I mean, above our heads, not twenty meters away are freaking sharks. Tiger sharks. _Bull _sharks. I watched enough _Shark Week_ as a kid to know that this could go south _fast._ As if reading my thoughts, I heard Keegan speak over the radio link,

"Hug the rocks as much as you can. Remember, we're not the only hunters out here." I tried to just breathe and stay calm.

_Maybe they've already had breakfast._ We swam on, and a few minutes in, we started hearing pings echo from the destroyer.

"Ugh, they're using sonar. Just move slow and hug the ground. The seaweed will help mask our signature." We moved through an undersea garden. It would have been beautiful if not for the human waste and debris scattered throughout.

"On me. Looks like there's an opening ahead." As we neared archway made by the storage containers, I saw that it was a deep cave. Keegan hesitated, before making up his mind. We needed to stay in cover.

"Alright, check your regulator. We're going down."

I took point, heading in and switching on the lights on my mask. Almost as soon as we were inside, the whole cavern shook. Silt filtered down from the ceiling, and I looked up and around sharply, not that that helped me discover the source of the tremor. Nervous habit.

"What's that?" I asked. Keegan must have shrugged, but he was behind me.

After a u-bend in the cave, we were ascending again and got a visual on the destroyer. AEGIS-class, the thing was enormous, the visual filling up the entire hole in the cave ceiling. We would have exited there, but it was swathed in netting.

"Scarecrow, we just got a visual on the target. Moving to intercept." We swam on a ways further.

"Roger that. We're picking up large sonar blasts in your area. That amount of water pressure could have lethal effects. Keep your bottles up and your heads down, copy?" Dad's voice was entirely placid and calm as he informed us of the mortal peril we would be in if more blasts went off. Even on the last sentence when he showed his concern. I tried not to let it get to me, but his voice was so emotionless that I wondered if he had forgotten who was on this mission: his son, and one of his best friends.

Of course, I understood. The only way to stay sane when you work a job like this is to be professional. Save all the sappy, chick-flick crap for _after_ the team gets back and can harass you for being so worried. I briefly wondered how Hesh was coping with being left out of this mission. This was the first time I'd gone out without him in months. When I thought about it, he was probably being the weepy teenage girl from aforementioned chick-flick. The mental image made me smile.

Just as we cleared the cave, a dreaded _ping_ came from the bow of the ship. It was like nothing I'd ever felt before. The wave of compressed water hit us, and I imagined I had gotten run over by a truck. All the air was forced from my lungs, and I couldn't seem to inhale to get my breath back. We were knocked backwards, and from the twisting I felt through my ribs, I could guess that I would have internal bleeding. We had to finish this and get out of here. Keegan and I coughed and sputtered for an awful few seconds before getting some air back and righting ourselves. I felt a grip on my arm as he half pulled me forward.

"Move." He barely rasped the word out and we both got to the cover of a container, before catching our breath. After the next blast, we moved up to a second container to wait for another. I peeked out at the ship and saw where the blasts were coming from: a sonar device near the bow. It looked like it was forward facing, and I was suddenly glad that we had approached the thing from the rear. Otherwise, our mission would be over by now. As in, permanently.

Still slightly breathless, Keegan updated Dad,

"Scarecrow, we're tracking the target but are unable to engage."

"Roger Two-One, recommend you pull back immediately." Another blast sounded.

"Negative! We'll find another way!" We scanned ahead, and saw the next cover was a rotting lighthouse.

"We'll fire from there. Go!" Keegan nodded towards it and started to inch out of cover.

We both took off as fast as we could, heading for the lighthouse. I let my rifle dangle from its one-point beneath me. We barely made it before the next blast hit, filtering through the wood planks that held the structure together. This time it only felt like a slap in the face, though.

"There it is!" We swam to the windows at the top of the building, and I synced up the torpedo I'd had strapped to my back with the small screen that displayed a thermal feed from the thing's nose. Keegan kept updating dad, telling him what we were doing. Handing it off to him for launch, I used the device in my hands to fire up the missile's propeller. It slowly picked up speed and I used the toggle controls on my screen to guide it towards the target.

I don't know why _I _got to guide the missile. Was I more tech-savvy than Keegan? Maybe they figured all of Hesh's tech brains rubbed off on me by osmosis. Whatever. I don't know, but guiding that thing was _hard._ It was a one in a thousand shot anyway, but honestly, I almost missed the thing.

A few seconds after launch we were rewarded with the satisfying explosion, albeit a bit muffled from the volume of water between us.

"Nice! You got it!" It _was_ nice. Until the shockwave hit and the lighthouse leaned, about to fall. The blast was worse than the sonar pings. Before I realized it, the whole house was upside down and I was plummeting two hundred feet towards the ocean floor. Keegan's remark summed it up pretty well,

"Oh, shit. Get out!"

I tried to get out, but I was trapped by the rubble falling along with me. I saw Keegan escape the tower just before I hit the ground and blacked out.

Lack of oxygen woke me up. I grunted, blinking and trying to rise, but I couldn't move. Something flickered in my vision, like one of those dancing noodle dudes they used to put outside of car dealerships.

My air tube. I started to struggle, trying to dislodge the debris on top of me. I couldn't breathe. Panic took over, telling me to just _inhale_ already, but I knew that if I did I would just get a lungful of salt water.

"Talk to me, Logan. You okay?" Keegan's voice drifted through the comm. I don't think I'd ever heard him that worried before.

_I can't speak! I can't _breathe_!_ My right arm was less buried than the other, and I fought to free it. The metal edge cut through my wetsuit. The water started to turn pink as I still tried to get it out from under the rubble. _Where's Keegan?_ A few seconds, then my vision started to turn black, creeping in at the edges. _I can't breathe_. Terror _really_ rose in my throat then. My lungs screamed at me. Blood spurted from my wrist when I pulled harder. The pain didn't matter; I couldn't die like this. _Alone_, at the bottom of the ocean? No, _no no no_ not today.

The fear abated a little when Keegan swam into my vision.

"Hey, stay with me!" He grabbed the loose tube and connected it back where it belonged, in the oxygen port. My reply was a huge gasp and rush of air entering my lungs.

_Thank God._ He gave me a second to breathe, before trying to shift the rubble.

"Let's get this shit off ya." He grabbed the upper edge of the piece of _whatever_ that held me pinned, and pulled up. It looked like a fusion of concrete and metal, reinforced with rebar. I got my left arm free, then shifted it a little to pull my right wrist out from under the edge, wincing as I did so. We heaved the rubble off and I just floated for a second, and checked myself over. I had too much adrenaline in my system to be able to tell if I was hurt bad or not.

"You OK?" He held his fingers in the universal "okay" hand gesture to accompany his question. Once again I was kept from answering him properly when I glanced over his shoulder and saw the shell of a Hind, recently freed from its perch on the destroyer's deck, crashing down straight towards us.

"Move!" The urgency in my voice was enough to get him to move and Keegan pushed off at the same time as me. We barely avoided the falling bird, and when we looked up, the rest of the ship was falling after it.

"Time to go, c'mon." He turned and swam like crazy, me right behind him. We barely got out of range of the falling debris.

"Scarecrow, this is Six-Two! Target has been neutralized. You're cleared for phase two, over!"

"Copy Six-Two. Sounds like you've caused quite a stir." I guessed that was the closest thing dad could say to, "what the hell happened?" while staying in operational boundaries.

"Just make sure you get here on time! Six-Two out!" Keegan actually sounded… not quite scared. More like, _holy-shit-we-are-so-screwed._

We ducked into a sunken cruise ship to avoid the dive patrols between us and our exfil point.

"We can lose them in here." A muffled explosion on our left made us pick up the pace, and we saw that they were dropping depth charges too.

"They really don't want us leaving here." I commented once we were safe inside.

"Heh, no shit. Let's just keep moving; keep an eye out." We worked our way down a deck or two and were headed towards a hole in the corridor, when Keegan suddenly stopped and held a fist back behind him.

"Easy, if you can see 'em that's a good sign." It took me a moment to figure out what he was talking about, but then I saw the body of a Fed diver drift by, and noted the missing limbs and bite marks.

My buddies the bull sharks were back. I peeked around the corner and saw the sleek, torpedo-like body disappearing into another part of the ship.

"Let's hope they're not hungry anymore." Keegan was moving again and I was keen to stay close. Maybe I watched a little _too_ much _Shark Week_ when I was younger.

The very next room we swam into had three of the fuckers in it. And they weren't leaving.

"Hold up." Keegan sighed, assessing the situation. "This doesn't look good." He looked all around the room, but the only way out was across and above us… right through the middle of them.

"We'll have to go one at a time." He glanced over at me, expecting an affirmative.

"Negative. Keegan…" I held out my forearm, showing him where blood would have been oozing from if we were in open air. With every throb I felt, a little more crimson stained the water. The sharks above could smell me from miles away.

"Shit. Let's _really_ hope they're not hungry."

He must have seen the slight widening of my eyes, behind my mask. I looked back above me at the prowling animals. I swallowed thickly, noting the dark beady eyes and interlocking teeth. I saw more blood in the water above us, where they had been gnawing on other divers.

"We have to risk it," He said, almost apologetically. "I'll go first. You stay here and cover me."

I was amazed at his guts, and hoped and prayed he knew what he was doing. I positioned myself where I could see all of the deadly fish above and took a deep breath.

"Set." I kept my rifle trained upwards, ready to take out the first one that wandered too close to Keegan.

"Moving." He dropped his gun, using both arms to swim slowly and steadily through the open water. I got a scare once when one of the sharks nearer to him flicked its tail and shot away, but it didn't attack him. After an agonizing minute, he was through to the other side, not a scratch. He turned around and got set, letting out a slow breath.

"Okay. You're up. Nice and easy. Keep your distance as much as you can." If you've ever been trapped in a room, bleeding, surrounded by three (probably) hungry sharks, you know exactly how I was feeling at the time. If you haven't, and you don't; good for you, you lucky bastard.

I was doing okay, and staying away from the sharks, but they moved through the water much faster than I could. My breathing was growing ragged, and the fact that my wrist was still leaking blood didn't set me at ease. About halfway up, I got more on edge when I saw Keegan tense and bring his rifle up closer, aiming at something over my shoulder.

"Kid, don't. Move." He spoke lowly. It must have been behind me. I hardly dared to breathe as it was loud in my own ears. I felt the shivers creep up my spine. I waited, and watched Keegan. I forced myself to relax, trusting him. I don't know how long it was, but after a time I saw a gray nose, slowly drifting up on my right. I didn't dare turn, but with my periphery, I saw it was close enough to touch. It came up under my outstretched arm and bobbed its head, nosing the water in sort of the same way Riley sniffs the wind. It slowly drifted upwards. Once its head was past my arm I moved it gradually over so that I wouldn't brush its tail as it passed. Another long moment, and Keegan spoke, his voice tight,

"Get over here." Still forced to move calmly, I slowly stroked over to him until I was out of the room and on the exterior of the ship. I let out a shaky breath that I hadn't realized I was holding. My body ached all over and I was glad to release the tautness in my muscles. This mission needed to end soon.

"You good?" A quick thumbs up. "Let's go." We swam down the side of the ship before heading back inside and through a sort of ballroom to get away from the charges. The last room collapsed behind us as we swam through a hole in the floor, then we picked up the pace, swimming towards our sub.

"Scarecrow this is Six-Two. We are approaching rally point Echo." I was barely keeping up with him. My adrenaline was wearing off and a throbbing pain had made its home in my stomach.

"Roger that, Six-Two. It's good to hear from you." Dad's voice sounded relieved over the radio.

"Heh, I hear ya."

"Your extraction's waiting; we're keeping the engine running for you."

"Roger that. Six-Two out." Keegan cut off his mike and looked back, seeing me lagging behind. "Come on, Logan. Almost home."

You have no idea how glad I was when I saw that sub, drifting slowly ahead of us. Friendlies had placed a flashing beacon on the hull, which I was glad for. The airlocks can be damn hard to find.

We made our way inside and sealed the hatch, then righted ourselves as we waited for the water to drain out. I had my feet under me, but when they took my weight, I all but fell to the floor. My legs had turned into jelly and I slammed gracelessly into the metal.

"Logan!" Keegan yelled off to my left. He seemed to be in a similar predicament and stumbled when he took a step towards me, staggering into the wall. Suddenly my whole torso was lit up with fire. Lungs screaming at me, I jerked my regulator off and entered a spastic coughing fit, trying to gasp in air around the violent heaves. I thought I saw a smattering of pink drip to the floor. Keegan pulled one of my arms over his shoulders and hauled me towards the opening door. Our return had drawn a crowd.

The last thing I remembered before I blacked out was hanging off of two seamen's shoulders while someone yelled,

"Get a medic!"

When I came to I was in the room I shared with Hesh. I didn't know how I got there. I didn't even remember the mission. I sat up, wincing as I did. My insides felt like they were tied into knots. My right forearm was bandaged. I pulled my shirt up to reveal several scrapes across my torso and some bruising.

"What the hell?" I murmured. They weren't bad or painful, just annoying. I heard a noise from the bunk above me. I stood and peeked up there. Hesh rolled over, blinking groggily, then snapping awake when he saw me standing there.

"Logan! What are you doing up? You should be resting!" Like lighting, he sat upright and dropped down from the top bunk. He grabbed my bicep and pushed me down to sit on the edge of the bed. I still didn't quite know what was happening. All I could think was,

_You're in my spot. I'm in _your_ spot._

"What happened? Who…" Then it all came rushing back to me. "Ah, fuck." I flopped backwards onto the pillow.

"You remember now?" Hesh sat on the bed by my feet, crossing his arms. I did. I held up my index finger.

"One word, man." Hesh raised his eyebrows and a slight grin tugged at his mouth, masking the worry behind his eyes.

"Oh?"

"Fucking _sharks._" That drew a chuckle out of him. I groaned, running a hand over my face to wipe out the stress and fear of hours ago. "NO! You don't _get_ to laugh! You have no idea! All those summers you made me watch _Shark Week_ with you! Ugh!" I sat up again and pushed him off the foot of the bed. He caught himself before flopping onto the floor and looked slyly back at me.

"Yeah, Keegan told me. Sharks are attracted to blood right?" He teased me about it now, but if he had been there I know he would have been freaking out just as much as I had. It was tempting to tell him just how terrified I actually was, but he'd probably just tease me some more. Instead, I sent him my best death glare.

"You… just shut your face, alright?" I pointed at him with an accusatory finger. Hesh laughed again, not pushing it any farther. "But really… what happened? I only remember as far as the airlock." My tone sobered him a little and he sat down next to me.

"You passed out. The change in pressure or something. You and Keegan both came staggering out the airlock, and before I knew what was going on, the medics were rushing you off to the medbay. They moved you back here after you'd been stable for a while. You've been out for about three hours."

"And Keegan?" I asked.

"He's fine. In much better shape than you anyway."

"Good." I paused for a second as a familiar sensation settled into my stomach.

"Were there any specific orders from the docs?" I asked tentatively.

"No… not that I remember, why?" Hesh looked at me quizzically.

"I'm starving." I got up and walked over to the door and headed in the direction of the mess before he could stop me.

Hesh was again visited by the thought that maybe Logan wouldn'twant him to read his journal. He'd always thought that nothing fazed Logan; he never would have guessed that the ocean scared him so much, what with his going to combat dive school, but apparently his fears were the kind of thing that he kept to himself. Again he was shocked by how much he _didn't_ know about his brother, the man he knew better than anyone else.

_He's scared of dying alone._ The thought hit him like a freight train, and he remembered the very first thing Logan had asked in his journal: "Rememberme_._"

_I _have_ to save him. _Hesh didn't regret many decisions in his life, but the biggest one was fighting with his brother. In the heat of anger he'd blamed Logan for Elias' death, and he hadn't had the chance to properly apologize before he lost him. Logan was devastated by it.

Hesh hated it. Hated himself. All he could do was send thoughts Logan's way and hope he knew he'd never stop looking for him.

_I'm so sorry, Logan. _Hesh curled into the corner and squished his arm into his face, trying to wipe away the rain there.


	14. Chapter 14

**AN: Hey everyone! I really appreciate all the love this story has been getting! Thanks so much! And as you know, I'm wrapping this up, so enjoy this chapter (I think you will!) Also, apologies in advance to any Portuguese speakers who may be reading this. I just used Google translate and have no clue if it translated well or not because, sadly, I don't speak Portuguese! Anyway, enjoy!**

* * *

Merrick was already in the TOC when Hesh strode in, right on time. He'd tried to limit himself to one visit a day, both to keep him from obsessing and stressing over their progress and to keep Neptune and his intel team from banning him entirely.

"Hesh! Come in, I was about to come get you." Hesh crossed the room to where the two older men stood somewhat cautiously. Three days ago, he'd been none too gently thrown out of the room for interrupting their work, so he kept his mouth shut and tried not to hope for too much.

"Tell him what you told me." Merrick said, and Hesh waited expectantly. Neptune paused as if organizing information in his head.

"We took the time stamp from the video and cross-referenced it with our satellite feed over that grid, and spotted a convoy leaving Rorke's camp about an hour before your assault." Hesh tracked the photos scrolling across the screen and his head spun. An hour. They'd missed the son of a bitch by _one hour_. "The convoy drove southeast, all the way to Rio. The Fed has a stronghold there. It even has an airfield."

"There's more." Merrick turned to a different GPS monitor. "A contact showed up on the team frequency this morning. It's Logan's." He let Hesh put the pieces together himself.

"So it's a trap. He _wants_ us to come after him."

"Right. My guess is that we made him uncomfortable with the closeness of our last raid; I still don't know how he found out about it. Anyway, he must feel like he's leveled the playing field if he's sending out a signal like this."

"We can't go." As much as it pained Hesh to say it, he knew they couldn't afford to take the bait. "Not if he's this confident."

"We don't have a choice."

"What?" Hesh was stunned. Maybe they were spoiled from getting to pick and choose their own missions, but Ghosts generally weren't prone to throwing their lives away. "Merrick, it would be _suicide._" The elder shook his head.

"Orders came down about an hour ago. Command has been wanting to strike another serious blow to the Feds for a while. After the Icarus mission we slacked off and gave them too much of a break, so now we're taking down Rio. Whether Logan's there or not, we're going."

"But we're still about eighty percent sure that Logan _is _there." Neptune chimed in as he switched monitors and pulled up an aerial view of the Federation base. It wasn't so much a base as a veritable _fortress_. Anti-personnel fortifications fanned out in every direction from the prison-like walls, and none of the buildings within one kilometer of the gates were taller than a single story.

"It's located about a mile back from Copacabana beach. They've cleared the surrounding area in order to make a stealth approach difficult. Basically all we know is what we can get from satellite and IR images of the base. Advanced recon has only gotten blurry images of the outside." Hesh scanned through the base schematics noting placement of generators and barracks… or Neptune's best guess at least.

"In other words: we don't know shit." He interjected. The elder Ghost's head bobbed around uncertainly.

"Pretty much. The only other thing we can guess based on troop movements is that it's got to have a basement much larger than the above ground complex."

The trio surveyed the intel in consternation for a long few minutes.

"We'd need _days_ to plan an infiltration on this place!" Hesh burst out, breaking the silence.

"Normally we'd have them, but I've already been briefed on our orders. The 75th is mobilizing in forty hours, we have to be gone in thirty eight. Command wants us to get our feet wet and soften the target before the Rangers launch their primary assault. We are to take out power and comms, and anything else flammable we find, but our main focus is the commander." The tone of Merrick's voice told Hesh all he needed to know.

"It's Rorke." Merrick nodded.

"Command knows about him… and about his grudge against us, so we're the only ones they'll trust with taking him out."

"What about Logan?" The question was always there, but this time Hesh didn't know if they'd have the leash to go looking for him. He looked at Neptune. "You said eighty percent, I'd go looking if it were one." Merrick smirked.

"Command briefed me on hunting down Rorke, but they didn't say anything about exfil or a return time. As long as we take that base off the grid, and stay out of the infantry's way, we've got all the time in the world."

Hesh felt relieved that Logan was part of the plan, but was confused by the unease he still felt. They were going to get his brother. They were going to bring him _home_. But the more he studied the plans of the fort the more dread filled his chest. He noted sentry and gun positions but didn't see a plausible route inside.

"Merrick, I know our team is good… the best… but this is crazy." Merrick looked as if he would agree with him for a moment.

"It's no worse than the Icarus bid was, and that was handled by the Air Force. Go round up the boys, I'll brief everyone in half an hour." Hesh left to find the others.

* * *

"Are we sure this tunnel runs under the depot?" Seay lowered his binoculars from the small grate in the field that separated them from the fortress. He tried to stretch as much as he could while scooting to let Hesh take over his shift on the spotter scope. The only cover they had was the scrub that grew on a small ridge about a quarter mile away from the Feds, so things like standing to ease sore limbs or take a piss were out of the question.

"It has to; they have to have a way to drain off water because of the way the base sits in the bottom of this valley. And we need a way in." Hesh replied. Even with Neptune's best guesses, their most accurate intel still held a large margin of uncertainty. No, they weren't _certain_ that the pipe led into the fortress, but they had nothing else to go on, so it became their route by default. The confidence that the LT said it with made Seay _want_ to believe him.

That was a quality that he hadn't had when the SOWT was first inducted into the Ghosts. Honestly speaking, Hesh was a wreck, and it showed through his leadership style. Seay couldn't exactly blame him, once he'd heard the story of all that had happened to him. He had picked himself up well in the last week, but he still looked as if one more letdown over his brother would send him back to that brink. Because he was a teammate, yes, and also for Hesh's sake, Seay hoped and prayed they found Logan today.

He retreated behind the line and fished an MRE out of his pack, snacking on it and trying to rest for about a half hour.

"Stalker 6-1, this is Actual. Operation Cocoa Banana is a go. Get ready." Neptune alerted them that the Rangers were ready.

"Roger, Actual. Stalker is in position." Merrick released the mic and mumbled under his breath, "_Cocoa Banana_… who names this shit?"

Seay smiled as he grabbed his gear, and thought it would make a good one for the grandkids. _"And this is the story of how a chocolate banana brought down the Federation of South American Socialists!" _He crawled, low, up to the rest of the team who were already on line looking over the edge of the ridge. Keegan took the sniper rifle from Hesh. Seay didn't hold out much hope that he could help them from over a quarter mile away, but again, the man's skills were legendary. He would stay on overwatch while the two assault teams infiltrated through the pipes.

"We have fifteen minutes from Neptune's signal to wrap this place up nice and pretty for the infantry." Merrick cemented the details, and each team leader got their watch ready. "If Team One has to go overtime on the secondary target, don't expect any extra pay." They all chuckled and a load of tension left the air, then they settled down for the wait. It only took ten minutes.

"Stalker 6-1 this is Actual, over." Neptune called them up again. The Rangers must be ready.

"Actual, 6-1, send it." They all knew what he would say anyway.

"You're moving out. _Go, go, go._ And good hunting."

"Thanks Actual, see you on the other side." As Merrick cut the connection, Kick picked up and sprinted down to the grate in the dirt about one hundred meters away, Hesh close on his heels. They got there, popped it open, and scrambled inside in a matter of seconds. Next, Seay ran down with Gillam. Once inside, he looked around. The pipe was more of a large culvert, and was big enough to crouch-walk down, which was good. They would have more time on the objective and less spent traveling. Hicks and Merrick dropped down a few seconds later and replaced the grate above them.

"Everyone here?" No one replied, but Merrick checked visually. "Good. Let's go Hesh." Hesh was on the base-end of their file, and he turned and started down the tunnel. It took five of their precious minutes, even at a crouch-run, to reach the second grate, which happened to be underneath the belly of a troop transport.

"Team Two, go." Kick led the way, quietly pushing the grate aside. He and Hicks crawled out of the grate, and Seay followed, slithering along on his stomach to get out from under the truck. The guards were easy enough to sneak past as long as they stayed between vehicles. Halfway to the armory the team stopped to plant C4 under a few tanks.

They breached the armory, two suppressed bullets taking down the guards posted inside.

"Alright, I've got the three for the comms and the generators. Rig up anything that looks like it'll go _boom_ and meet on the other side in two." Kick ordered, then began hiding the two bodies. Seay had two explosives and scouted the building, eventually placing them both on a large gasoline cache.

He met Kick and Hicks by the far doors just shy of two minutes later.

"All set?" Seay nodded. "Alright. Let's move." They stacked up and left the armory, dropping another group of guards and dragging them into the shadows before rounding the corner towards the generators. Kick handed out his other two packs of C4.

"Seay, tower. Hicks, with me. Five minutes." He led the way to the gate in the fence around the generator, and Seay peeled off left to sabotage the tower. Two guards stood at the bottom of the ladder. It wasn't so much a comms tower as a sentry post with a dish on top. There was a third guard keeping watch, thankfully in the other direction. He crept, low and silent, right up behind the two until he could hear their low conversation.

"Você sabe que o comandante ainda mantém que o homem no porão?"

"Sério? Ele ainda está vivo?"

"Sim, eu tinha que protegê-lo ontem. Pray você nunca tem que!"

"Por quê?"

"É como estar na mesma sala como o diabo."

Seay didn't care much what they said, and didn't speak the language anyway. He chose that moment to strike. He shot the far one through his skull, and pounced on the other from behind, slamming him into the ground and sending a round through his spine. He didn't have time to hide their bodies, so he turned and climbed. The guard at the top was oblivious, and easily taken down with a knife to the throat. He placed the explosive on the roof, then turned, clambered down the ladder, and met up with the others. Kick checked the time.

"Three minutes left, perfect. Let's get back and wait for the others." Sneaking back to the grate wasn't as easy as sneaking out. Guards were everywhere, and they seemed to know that something was up. They made it back to the culvert, but Team One wasn't there yet. A minute passed, and the target hit time approached quickly.

"They should've gotten here first." Kick murmured switching over frequencies to check on the others.

"…_can't really blame the kid, can you?" _That voice. Kick's eyes widened. _He _didn't belong on their channel.

"Is that Rorke?" Seay asked. Kick nodded, but motioned for silence.

"_Oh, you shoulda heard him scream. He wailed, and whined, and he whimpered and _begged. _You wanna know what he said? What he kept asking?"_ Kick had no clue what Rorke was talking about. They were out of time. He looked at Hicks.

"Blow it."

* * *

Team One left the culvert after Two, and sprinted the distance into the shadows of the building. Once inside, the three men moved like shadows, slipping through the corridors soundlessly, disturbing the air less than the breath of their enemies. They reached the end of the long, narrow hall and turned to the door on their left. A placard read _Segurança._

"This is room Alpha." A quick check.

"It's unlocked."

"Moving to breach, stack up."

"Check." If they screwed this up…

"Check!" The breathless whispers came. They were ready.

"Check. On three… One, two, three!" Hushed voices and whispers ceased with the quick turn of the doorknob. The men slid into the room smoothly, one after the other, spreading out to either side to better cover their quarry. He sat calmly in a chair, facing a bank of computers. The screens displayed camera feeds with various views of the compound interior, and even a small concrete room.

"It's about time, boys." The man had barely opened his mouth and Hesh had had enough of his shit. He glanced sidelong at Merrick to get permission for… he knew not what yet. He figured he'd just wing it, and do whatever came to mind. As if seeing the gesture, Rorke harrumphed and said,

"You _really_ don't want to do that, son." Hesh hadn't even taken half a step forward when Rorke was up like lightning, faster than you could've believed, his signature magnum firing off shots. Hesh lunged forward and grabbed his arm, twisting it down and effectively disarming him, before pulling his knife and attempting to bury it between the man's ribs. Rorke released the gun, spun away and blocked the series of quick stabs that Hesh tried, then reversed the playing field by using the same technique to disarm Hesh, keeping the knife for himself. The men circled one another for a brief moment, too short to get any sort of respite, then plunged into another melee, each vying for control over the other. Hesh wondered briefly what had happened to the other two Ghosts he was with, but didn't dare to look around for them. He couldn't let his attention waver, not even for a moment.

Rorke feinted on the left, then caught Hesh off guard, grabbing him and bending him over, thrusting upwards with his knee at the same time. Hesh took three heavy blows to the ribs before Rorke plunged his own blade into his stomach. Gasping for breath, he stumbled backwards, hitting the wall and sliding down it. Rorke seemed winded too; he was bent over, hands on his knees and breathing heavily.

_You're losing it, old man. _Hesh let out a derisive snort before twisting his face into a grimace. He had been shot in the stomach before, because of this same man, but he never guessed that the pain from a knife could feel so _different_. Almost worse than the bullet had been.

Rorke finally straightened and went over to Hesh, who hadn't recovered yet. He detached his MTAR from its one-point and took the Glock from its thigh holster, tossing them both out of reach. He looked down at Hesh, his expression one of pure contempt. The violent eyes shot daggers that seemed to say, "Is that all you got?" The gravity of the room suddenly shifted, and Hesh realized an important truth, one that had never really hit him before. With all of his missions in relentless pursuit of Rorke, it was a very _real _possibility that, he wouldn't come home from one of them. He was shocked. First at the idea, then at the fact that it had never occurred to him before.

Hesh was jerked from his thoughts by a string of _very_ select slurs and curses coming from his left. He glanced over, Rorke taking notice and doing the same, and saw Merrick, coughing up blood, uttering obscenities under his breath. Taking the moment to observe the room, Hesh looked around and spotted Gillam, slumped against the wall opposite Merrick. He wasn't moving.

Rorke stalked slowly over to Merrick, placed a hand under his chin, and jerked his face up to look him in the eye.

"You just don't give up, do you?" Rorke jeered. "When will you thick-headed morons realize: I'm just _better_ than you?" Letting Merrick's head drop, he stood and retrieved his revolver. If there was one thing they could count on, it was Rorke's desire to make his former team die _slowly._

"A Ghost won't stop –" Merrick began breathily. He looked at Hesh pointedly, trying to convey a silent message.

"- until his mission is complete. Yes I know. I'm the one who drilled that into _you_, remember?" Rorke spat the words out venomously. Checking the chamber, he strode back to Merrick, who was still screaming sentences with his eyes. Hesh began to realize what he was asking.

"I also remember teaching _you_ that no man gets left behind…" Rorke's voice droned on in the background as Hesh focused on what he had to do. Working through the agony, he loosely held the grip of the knife stuck in his stomach. _His_ knife, and he'd become a human sheath.

_God must hate me._ He tightened his hold on it and slowly drew the blade out, choking his own screams back. Rorke couldn't know. He couldn't hear him coming. It took all of his willpower to remain silent. Every twitch of the blade in his flesh sent out arc of agony to his spine and through his body. Looking up quickly, he saw that Rorke still had his back turned and was focused totally on lecturing Merrick.

One final, excruciating pull and the knife was free of him, along with much of his blood. It spread, warm, into his uniform, staining the digital a sanguine red. Hesh half-heaved himself to his feet, using the wall for support, before almost toppling over again. He imagined the pain streaming out with the blood and it calmed him; he filed the thought of blood loss away for later.

_Move it, Walker! _He imagined the voice of his father, telling him to shift his ass. As quietly as he could he staggered across the room. He held the knife in his right hand and clutched his abdomen with the other. He was only feet, seconds away from plunging the blade into the back of Rorke's neck when something tipped him off. It couldn't have been a noise or a sound. Hesh was a Ghost, he didn't make mistakes. But, just as when they had first breached the room, Rorke spun with inhuman reflexes, even as Hesh drove the knife down with all the strength he could muster. It clearly wasn't enough, as Rorke batted his hand away, easily taking the knife and immobilizing him with a quick punch to the ribs. He yelled, and doubled over, following the pain, trying to let it flow out and into the floor, but the tortuous knots remained. Rorke hauled him upright by his shirt.

"Tenacity! I like it!" Rorke waved the knife in Hesh's face and held him pinned against the opposite wall. "Maybe I picked the wrong brother, huh?" He finally settled the blade along Hesh's neck. He struggled against the grip, fleeting thoughts wondering why he always seemed to lose his strength when Rorke was in the picture. Glancing behind him, Hesh saw Merrick trying to stir himself from the floor… without much success. He scanned the room, looking for anything that could help. Anything he could use. Even if he still had his MTAR, it would be useless. Rorke was right up in his face. Hell, he could even smell the anchovies he'd had for lunch. Giving him a hard knock against the wall, Rorke called Hesh's attention back to him.

"All the _other_ one ever did was whine and complain… but," Rorke paused and chuckled, "weeeell, you can't really blame the kid, can you?" The Southern drawl mocked him, and Hesh fought all the harder against the owner of the odious accent at the mention of his brother. Hesh continued his desperate search of the room for some advantage, anything to tip the scale back in the Ghosts' favor.

"Oh, you shoulda heard him scream. He wailed, and whined, and he whimpered and _begged_. You wanna know what he said? What he kept asking?" Rorke spoke quietly, face to face with an irate Hesh. The latter glared daggers at his attacker, imagining tearing him limb from limb.

"'Where are you, Dad? Helpme_, David!'"_ Rorke's drawl mocked him and Hesh raged against the chokehold, scrambling for a way out.

Suddenly, the building shook, the lights went out, and you could hear the power grid shutting down. Hesh used Rorke's momentary confusion and his own hellish rage to shove him backwards and take his knife. Rorke yelled and Hesh felt more than saw him lunge. He just raised the blade. Rorke slammed into him, and they crashed to the floor.

"You can't kill me!" Rorke roared. Hesh twisted and the monster screamed. Pulled, and stabbed again, this time hearing a small wet _gasp_ come from his enemy. And he did it again.

_Twist. Pull. Stab. _

Again.

_Twist. Pull. Stab._

He did this until Merrick's wet cough snapped him back to reality. He and Gillam looked like dead men in the darkness, the room only lit by a sliver of window.

"Merrick?" Hesh abandoned the dagger in Rorke's chest, and dragged himself towards Merrick, still fueled by the furor of a moment ago.

"Merrick, talk to me!" Hesh cried desperately. The Ghost didn't move.

_He's breathing. He's okay. Just get him out._ Hesh glanced over at Gillam and noted that he hadn't moved at all during the encounter. Carrying both of them would be impossible in his current condition.

"Hesh, what's going on? Come in!" Hesh's radio crackled to life in the eerie silence.

"Kick?! Perfect timing. I need you!"


	15. Chapter 15

**AN: Hey guys! I know I haven't been around for a while, and I'm gonna be real honest, I'm not very satisfied with this chapter. Feel free to leave your opinions because it's still open to minor edits, but aside from that I won't be around for a while after this.**

**Read on, and enjoy!**

* * *

Kick followed Hesh's directions through the darkened building straight to the small security office. They were lucky that the Feds had been drawn out of the building to fight the Rangers, but at the same time, the team didn't have long before they'd have to get out of the infantry's way. He pushed the door open, eager to get his team and get out. At first he was struck by the sheer amount of _red_ coating the room, emanating mostly from Rorke's bloody corpse. Despite himself, he smiled at the sight: Rorke was really, finally dead. It triggered a sick sense satisfaction in his stomach until he laid eyes on Merrick, bloodied chest heaving near the door.

"Shit." He knelt next to him, noting a thick bandage already wrapped around his chest. Nearby, Hesh blinked slowly, finally reacting to the trio's entering the room.

"Keegan, can we move up our extraction? Team One is down." Kick motioned to Hicks and Seay to check on the other two while he knelt next to Merrick. He had a pulse, at least, and it looked like Hesh had patched him up before collapsing.

Hesh mumbled words and tried to sit up, but Hicks pushed him back, removing his kevlar, and taking his first aid kit to bandage his stomach.

"Say again? What's Team One's status?" Keegan's voice crackled with worry over their new frequency. Kick looked at the others for a full sitrep.

"Hesh is alive. I think he's been stabbed." Hicks reported, tightening the compression dressing.

"Gillam's gone." Seay's voice was tight. Kick gulped, and addressed Keegan again.

"One dead, two injured. Both look real bad, we need to get them out of here fast."

"Roger. Word on the targets?" Keegan deadpanned; Kick heard muffled gunfire over the radio.

"Rorke is dead. For good this time." Kick could hardly believe the finality to that statement, but it was true. The fight was almost over. "Still no clue where Logan is."

"He's here." Hicks helped Hesh sit up successfully this time.

"Where?" He asked, a supporting arm slung across Hesh's shoulders.

"The basement. I saw him before the power went out." Hesh spoke quietly, his voice slick with blood, and seemed to be struggling to breathe.

"Alright." Kick turned and spoke to Seay and Hicks. "We'll get these three out, then come back for him."

"No!" Hesh yelled suddenly, and stood, rising on his own, though leaning heavily on the console behind him. "Kick, I _have_ to find him. Please. Let me bring him home." The elder Ghost thought long and hard, weighing Hesh's condition against his will to find his brother. His eyes were blazing with a fury; Kick guessed that Rorke had gotten a rise out of him before he killed him.

"He's right. If we wait, it'll only be harder to get back inside with the infantry occupying base, and if we leave it to them it could be half an hour before Logan is found." Hicks chimed in, adding a layer of reason to the insanity Kick was about to agree to. Hesh was too badly injured.

"Are you fit to continue mission? _Can_ you do this?" Kick leveled with him. It was common knowledge to the Ghosts that nothing got between Hesh and his brother, but he wasn't about to lose another man just because of bull-headed stubbornness. He eyed the bandage suspiciously, but there wasn't any red bleeding through.

"He's my brother." Hesh nodded, and suddenly his eyes had never been clearer. Kick double checked just to make sure the bandage was holding and reluctantly conceded.

"Okay. Seay, we'll get Merrick and Gillam out of here. Hicks, go with Hesh." He clapped the brother on the shoulder as one last test, but Hesh didn't even flinch.

"Bring him home."

* * *

Hesh rushed down the stairs behind Hicks, as quickly as his injuries would allow. The basement was just as eerily empty as the first floor had been, and bathed in the spastic red glow of emergency strobes. He led Hicks through the corridors until he stood in front of a door he recognized from the cameras upstairs. _The _door. The last thing that stood between him and Logan. He turned to Hicks.

"Stay here." Hicks' nod was more understanding than he would've thought, but he pushed it from his mind and entered the room. He cleared it quickly, and set eyes on a dark figure in one corner.

If Hesh was elated at finally having found him, Logan was less so. He huddled in on himself, right arm held tight to his chest, following the elder with a single dark eye.

Hesh fell to his knees in front of his brother, paralyzed in indecision. He wanted to gather him up in his arms, apologize for being so late, and take him home; make him _safe_. It was becoming clear that this wouldn't be the joyful reunion he had looked forward to for so long.

Logan looked horrible in the crimson light, though Hesh was almost glad for it as it masked the gore that ran in streaks and splatters all over the room. The scent of iron was strong. Logan's clothes were ripped and torn, the old sand color permanently stained brown with blotches of filth and blood. Cuts peeked out of holes in the fabric from his shoulders all the way to the bottoms of his bare feet. A drop slipped out of the corner of his mouth, making a fresh line of crimson against the dry rust of old blood.

The fact that Logan was unbound and not trying to escape was almost as worrying to Hesh as the grimace that twisted his face into a mask of pain. He saw that Logan was tracking his movement, but seemed to lack the strength to lift his head, so he slung his rifle over a shoulder and reached out slowly. Logan was mumbling, but the words were too quiet and slurred to hear. He flinched away from Hesh's touch, but limply let his head be raised. Their gazes locked and Hesh stifled a gasp of shock. Logan's left eye was swollen, purple and crusted shut with blood. The warm brown that should have been looking up at him was gone; where there should have been recognition there was a long moment of… nothing.

"Get it over with." The words were barely a whisper from a parched throat, but they hit Hesh like a sledgehammer. The whole time he was out searching for his brother, not a moment of it had been spent thinking Logan wouldn't trust who he was when he did find him. He was dumbfounded.

"Logan," He flinched at his own name. "Do you know who I am?" The younger nodded, more meek and timid than Hesh could ever have imagined him being, and added, quieter than before,

"...you're _him_." He looked slightly confused at himself, and more than a little afraid.

"What's his name?" Hesh prodded carefully.

"Hesh." Logan's voice came timidly, as if every word pained him. He pronounced the name like that of a monster, and hid his face.

_If he knows who I am then… OH. _Something Rorke had said clicked into place and Hesh came to a sudden, horrible realization. Logan thought _Hesh_ was his torturer. _Rorke you sick bastard. The only way to make him betray the Ghosts would be by making him think the Ghosts betrayed him first._

"Just do it and go!" Logan held his arm at an angle, showing numerous track marks around his elbow, and waited, as if expecting something. _He's probably had enough drugs to believe the lies, too._ Hesh had a wisp of an idea and decided it was his best shot. He reached again and, gently, took Logan's head in his hands. He kept both eyes, good and bad, squinted shut.

"Logan, look at me." The brown eye opened reluctantly. "I'm your brother, David." It squinted again, holding so much fear that it pained Hesh to look at.

"What? Where's…" Logan trailed off into uncertainty, sounding tired, his single good eye darting around the rest of the room. Hesh was glad he left Hicks outside.

"Hesh is gone, he can't hurt you anymore." His face visibly lightened, and Hesh, heartened, backed away and held out a hand to help him get up. "Come on brother, let's go home." But Logan still made no move to rise; he stared up confused and distrustfully.

"You. _You're_ my brother—David?" Hesh squatted to be back on the same level as Logan.

"Yes. It's me." He reached out again, slowly, to Logan's shoulder, now that his head had found its strength, but his hand was caught in Logan's surprisingly strong grip. He still flinched.

"Logan—"

"What took you so long?" The hoarse whisper caught Hesh by surprise, and he found, to his horror that he'd missed Logan's tears. He'd missed the clean trails through the filth on his face and the way his whole body was trembling. And now he was searching his face, hungering for some sign or reasoning that his suffering was not in vain.

This was Logan, utterly lost in pain and betrayal, and try as Hesh might, he couldn't think of a reason. He only thought that the wasted time and sleepless nights when he had felt helpless and frustrated couldn't be the half of what Logan had been through. There _was_ no reason, no point to it all.

_You bastard. This is what you wanted all along._ Hesh grimaced, his insides knotting themselves more painfully than his wound ever could. But he refused to let Rorke win.

"I'm sorry." Logan didn't give much of a reaction, so Hesh forged onward. "I'm sorry I wasn't here. I'm sorry I didn't find you sooner." Hesh set his hands gently on Logan's shoulders in a gesture of solidarity, but lifted them instantly when he flinched again. He had no idea what kind of injuries Logan had, but Hesh had held out hope that it wouldn't get _this_ bad before he found him. Again he was reminded how he was too late; he had been too late ever since the second Logan was taken away.

"I'm sorry I ever let him take you. I'm sorry for pushing you away. I'm sorry I couldn't find you." Hesh was gushing and crying. Hot tears burned down his face.

"This is all my fault." His cry became a sob. "I'm _so sorry." _He had to turn and cough out the blood from his bruising by Rorke, still holding in the pain he felt; he didn't care, it was nothing to what Logan had endured. Hesh despaired. He'd almost torn his team apart over this, and now Logan hardly even recognized him. It was like a sick joke. Hell, Gillam was _dead_, and his brother was all but stripped of his autonomy.

Hesh stayed doubled over, seized by the coughing fit. Staring at the filthy floor tiles, he hung his head in shame.

He jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder, looked up and saw his brother. Logan still looked at him through misty tears and fear, but the gesture of solidarity stayed in place, clinging to him.

"Is he gone?" Hesh wondered if he meant Rorke or 'Hesh', but it didn't matter. The answer was the same.

"Yes." Hesh lit up again, trying to get Logan to trust him. "He can never hurt you again." Logan still looked confused, but Hesh plunged on, clinging to the last of his hope. He gently held his brother's face and though he still recoiled, this time he didn't stop him.

"Listen to me: your name is Logan Walker. You're Elias Walker's son. You're a soldier, a Ghost. And you're my brother. I love you and I'm here to rescue you. I'm here to bring you home." Hesh touched his forehead to Logan's.

"Let me bring you home." Though his eyes were closed, he felt Logan exhale, and when he looked back at him, he was unconscious, likely exhausted by the exchange. Hesh smiled a little. He looked more peaceful in sleep. Still afraid, but he'd given him back his hope, and that made all the difference.

It took more than he thought he had in him to lift Logan to his feet. His wound was catching up to him. Even with how light he'd had become, Hesh knew he couldn't carry him.

"Hicks!"

* * *

The look on Hesh's face was one of horror and anger when Hicks entered the room and saw it, and Logan. Hesh was holding them both upright, but he swayed under his brother's weight.

"I can't carry him." The voice was tired and almost ashamed, but the eyes were lit up with quiet rage. Hicks nodded, and moved across the room to the two.

"I've got him." He slung the emaciated Ghost across his shoulders and readied his weapon. He wouldn't be able to aim very well. "You'll have to cover us until we get clear."

"No problem." Hesh still looked a little shaken, and swaying on his feet, but he seemed to pull himself together as he radioed the team.

"Keegan, can you tell the Rangers that we're moving out? I'd rather not get shot by our own guys." Hesh sounded a little breathless as he walked back through the corridors, each step seeming like its own battle.

"We ran into them outside." Kick jumped in. "One of their guys is helping us hotwire a transport for Merrick to the CCP. We can wait a couple more minutes for you."

"Roger that, we'll be out in one." Hesh clicked off his mic. "They've got a transport waiting for us." He told Hicks over his shoulder. They moved up the stairs, Hicks following behind, hoping he wouldn't have to catch Hesh halfway up. At the top, Hesh closed his eyes and rested against the wall for a moment, and Hicks mentally assessed him. He looked unsteady, and had gotten paler. Blood was beginning to seep through his bandage.

"Hey, come on Hesh, stay with me." Hesh's eyes snapped open at his name, and he looked at his brother somewhat worriedly. "You good?" He refocused on Hicks and nodded.

"Yeah, just tired." He gestured in the vague direction of outside.

"Let's go home."


End file.
